


Finding Home

by PencilofAwesomeness



Series: Finding Home [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Family Dynamics, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gen, Post-Season/Series 02, Reunions, Shiro just wants to go home, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-10-19 01:04:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PencilofAwesomeness/pseuds/PencilofAwesomeness
Summary: Shiro is nowhere to be found, but the paladins aren't going to give up on finding him. Problem is, the galaxy is a big place to find one person.Shiro isn't sure exactly where he is, but he's determined to find his way back. But the road home is longer when one doesn't know where it is.





	1. Caught in the Grey

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeey.... So I'm sitting here bored waiting for Season 3, so I decided to write my own. In a way. I might continue this as a series later, if I get a solid idea for one. I know I'm bad at this, but I swear, I will try to update this weekly if it kills me. If the next chapter isn't up by Friday or Saturday, feel free to yell at me.

_"How cold have I become?_  
_I didn't want to_  
_Lose you by what I'd done_  
_Caught in the grey..."_

* * *

 

There should have been celebration; there should have been cries of joy and triumph and a lavish feast, marking the fact that they _did it_ and lived to tell the tale.

But there wasn’t. Not because the Paladins of Voltron had failed. No, Zarkon was defeated. But at a price too high: Shiro was gone.

Hardly a word had been uttered in the Castle of Lions since then. Even Slav had been uncharacteristically quiet as he fumbled with his blankets and rearranged the storage closet for the umpteenth time. The Blade of Marmora had left swiftly and silently with but a muttered word of thanks to Allura. Now, days have passed in silent stupor, the oppressive air of mourning heavy over the victorious Paladins of Voltron.

Hunk didn’t know what he was doing—not really. And he didn’t kid himself otherwise. He did kid himself, however, when he lied and told himself that everything would be fine. Because it would be, right? At least it _could_ be… He thinks.

No, no, Hunk would _not_ start thinking that way. Nope.

And it was too easy to think in the silence that became of the castle, so he threw himself into the kitchen instead. Because cooking was normal. And noisy. They needed food anyways. This was productive and helpful, and Hunk was more than willing to do it. Yeah, that was it.

Hunk chopped the vegetables and steamed the _karta_ , which behaved remarkably like rice save for the fact that it was round and green. There were more ingredients that he handled, all of which he knew exactly how they behaved, but none that really garnered his attention. Not now. No, Hunk focused on the rhythmic motions of cooking—the chopping, the stirring, the frying—and the smells and sounds—the sizzling, the tang, the _thwopping_ of the knife—because those things were real and docile and okay.

Eventually, his dish came to an end and Hunk tried not to be disappointed. But what was the good of food if it wasn’t shared? Besides, he very much doubted that any of his friends would eat unless he specifically brought them food… Hunk tried not to think too hard on it. No thinking, just acting. It was a page from Lance’s book if he ever knew it, but Hunk was determined to help his friends because they were more important than his problems right now. (It was the same problem, really, but Hunk wasn’t quite thinking that way.)

The dish he had prepared were the closest things to burritos he had managed after all these however-many months of being in space. He was proud of them, and would have loved to revel in his success, but these babies were best suited for comfort at the moment rather than his own accomplishment. And that was okay.

He headed to the control room first, because Allura and Coran were the easiest. They were the only ones who ate food of their own volition, at this point, so Hunk would always ease himself into the impossible task he had set before him with them.

They were working nonstop. On what, Hunk regretted not precisely knowing. “Hey,” he greeted meekly, offering the plates of food. “I made dinner.”

Allura blinked at him slowly, checking a monitor with a twitch of her brow. “It’s only lunchtime,” she replied back softly, taking the plate and setting it to the side. “But thank you.” She smiled, and Hunk distantly thought it looked different, but it was well crafted enough. He was preoccupied trying to figure out how he got his time wrong. Had he skipped a meal, or made one too many?

Coran took his proffered plate and took a bite. “Quite delicious as always, Number 2!” the royal advisor praised. “Your efforts are as remarkable as ever.” The Altean man took another bite, set the plate down, squinted at a chart, and scribbled down some notes.

The princess kept smiling at him, took a single bite—most likely out of politeness—and bent back over her star-map. Several areas were marked with slashes, and others with circles. Hunk felt like he should ask…but he didn’t want to. Not right now.

“Well you’re welcome,” Hunk replied, the default response naturally on his lips. “I’m just gonna’…go get the others.”

He scurried down the blue-lit hallways, the tray he toted around rattling in front of him. Hunk focused on the noise, but it reminded him of his grandma’s restaurant instead. Was she okay, back at home? Were any of them okay? To think of home put a crushing weight on his gut; he had abandoned them… And worse yet, Hunk had been gone so long now he was forgetting details; when Hunk thought of his grandma’s place, he couldn’t remember the colors just right, and he couldn’t quite hear his sister’s voice anymore. He was letting them slip away, and for what? To be a failure?

Hunk hadn’t realized he had stopped. Something warm was trickling down his cheeks, and he was left disconcerted where he stood. The emotions he was keeping at bay were trying to leak out of him, but they were jumbled, tangled all in the well-being of others. The once rock-steady pieces of him were stretched thin and they couldn’t support themselves anymore.

A cold hand set itself on his shoulder, and Hunk almost didn’t feel it; when he did, he hardly jumped. Lance shot a lop-sided smile at him, but it wasn’t as warm and comforting as Hunk once found it. “Burritos? You really are the best, Hunk. I forgot how much I missed these things!”

If any of the boys noticed how Lance’s voice shook a little on the last sentence, they didn’t mention it. “Hmm, Hunk you outdo yourself, buddy,” Lance hummed happily between his bite. He swept a plate off of the tray and coveted the food close. However, Lance took to holding the burrito more than eating it. Hunk observed Lance’s already thin and lanky frame with displeasure, more so now that Lance’s skin didn’t hold its normally healthy glow. (Either he was sick, or he wasn’t moisturizing; either were tell-tale signs that Lance wasn’t okay.) He really should eat more… But Lance had come out of the map-room and was finally eating and coming to him, so Hunk counted this as a victory.

Hunk shrugged. “The beans are still weird, but I’ll get them right eventually,” he added nonchalantly. There were two plates left: the hardest were left for last. “Want to head with me to Pidge?”

“Yeah, sure,” Lance shrugged in return in a pitiful attempt to act casual. They headed to the Green Lion’s hangar, having no doubt that Pidge would be there, with Lance trotting at Hunk’s side like a lost puppy.

The place was a mess. Wires, pieces, crumpled notes, and models lay scattered across the floor and on any other applicable surface, so much so that Hunk abandoned the cart for maneuverability’s sake and just grabbed her plate.

If one wasn’t actively looking, they might’ve missed Pidge in the midst of the clutter. She was wedged in between computer screens, hunched over them and appearing smaller than she already was. The low glare of the screens reflected off her glasses, and the bad lighting made Pidge seem paler than she already was.

“Go away.” Although she had been absorbed by whatever she was doing, Hunk must’ve made enough noise to garner her attention.

He frowned, eyeing the completely abandoned bowl from the last meal. “Pidge, you need to eat.”

Both Hunk and Lance startled when Pidge suddenly straightened, slamming her fists into the table and knocking several notepads over with loud _thunks_. The fury in her eyes were heightened by the sickly glow of the screens and contrasted with the dark bags underneath her glasses. “I don’t need food, dammit!” she snapped. “I need answers!”

Lance, who had picked his way across the debris, laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Look, I know you’re great and all, but—” She spun on him with a snarl, and Lance recoiled quickly. It hurt Hunk to see Pidge so upset and Lance giving in so easily, but he wasn’t sure how to help them. He could try, though.

“Pidge,” he sighed. “Just…please? You can’t function without food…” Hunk wasn’t sure if Pidge’s quest for answers would go anywhere, regardless of her energy, but he could allow her to remain cautiously optimistic—it was what he was _trying_ to do, at least.

She narrowed her eyes, nostrils flared dangerously. She knew he was right, but she wasn’t going to admit it. Pidge snatched the plate from his hands without so much as looking at it and set it down. “I’ll eat it after I run these numbers again,” she compromised.

Hunk still wasn’t so sure. Surely she had run whatever it was she was running several times already—he knew Pidge, and he knew Pidge was thorough if she cared enough. He crossed his arms carefully. “Can’t you at least eat it now? To make me feel better?” he pressed.

Pidge snarled briefly. “Just because _you_ don’t care what happened to him, doesn’t mean I don’t!” she hissed. Hunk felt like he just got slammed in the gut. It was a low blow, and they all knew it. Hunk felt undeniably guilty; the truth was, he _hadn’t_ been actively searching for Shiro…but what could he do? He was useless, just as useless as he was in the fight where they lost him. Lance rubbed his arm, bit his lip, and turned away. The accusation was aimed at both of them, whether Pidge knew it or not.

“I’m just gonna…go now,” Lance said carefully. Hunk should’ve stopped him, chased after him, or something, but he could only watch as his best friend quickly left the hangar. Hunk must’ve been terrible at being a friend, and even worse at being the ‘supportive leg of Voltron,’ because he couldn’t haul himself out of his own insecurities to fix Lance, and he definitely wasn’t making any progress with Pidge.

Pidge did soften, however. Something wet glistened underneath her glasses, but with the glare, it was hard to tell. “I’m just…frustrated. Sorry,” she apologized curtly. Pidge even took a small bite of the burrito, which made him feel marginally better. However, Pidge made no move to either eat more or continue to speak, and settled herself back into her vigil without a word.

Her words still stung, but Hunk brushed them to the side. If Shiro were here, he’d want to make sure everybody was taken care of; Hunk was just carrying that out for him. And in order to do that, he couldn’t afford to be bogged down by pointless guilt. Guilt didn’t accomplish anything, especially when the others were just hurting.

Hunk grabbed the last plate and hurried to his last location. He had little hope, to be honest, that Keith would respond to him, but it was his duty to try.

The door to the Red Lion’s hangar slid open quietly, and Hunk scurried in. “Hey, I brought you some more food. You gotta’ be hungry up there,” Hunk called softly. The atmosphere in the room was so quiet and forlorn that Hunk was afraid something would break if he made any more noise. It was so still, in fact, that Hunk would have doubted Keith was in there, if it weren’t for the fact that nobody had seen Keith leave since… Since it happened.

The Red Lion stared at him, almost sadly, but her paladin made no move or sound to as so much as recognize him. Hunk had the least luck with getting Keith to eat or even speak to him, and his hope was waning. But he would try anyways. “It’s not _exactly_ like it, but I made burritos,” he pressed, hoping beyond hope that Keith would say something.

Silence reigned in the room.

With a heavy sigh, Hunk set the plate down, among the others, and left the room. He was determined to press harder later, to try to get Keith to talk, but now… Now Hunk wasn’t so sure he was cut out for it.

The paladin with the role of supportive friend, who once cared so effortlessly, returned to his kitchen where he could outrun his failures in noisy solitude.

—o0o—

He felt like he was floating. His limbs were heavy and irresponsive, and his mind was sluggish; he couldn’t recall where he was or where he was supposed to be, and he couldn’t find it in him to care. He was content sinking into the darkness, nothing but a body without a soul, or a soul without a body.

Something about the existence was strange, but there was simply nothing else. He was weightless. Purposeless. Nameless.

A name. Some distant little _voice_ that had no sound told him that that wasn’t true: he should have a name. But he couldn’t remember it. He couldn’t remember his name, so he forgot who he was. If that was the case, then he could blissfully sink into the void now.

… _no_ …

The voice was back, trying to remind him of something he couldn’t remember because he forgot his name. There was something…important. There was a reason he hadn’t let the void take him yet, but it wasn’t there anymore? No… It was there, but he wasn’t.

It was too much; his head _hurt_. He wanted to curl in on himself and…and do _something_. Cry? Mourn? Rage? Those were feelings, and he didn’t know if he was supposed to have them—they were out of reach, just like he was. It was confusing; he _could_ feel _that_.

It was cold here, but it wasn’t. There was no heat, no warmth, but nothing bit into his skin like cold should. He was aware of cold; he knew of cold very well. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. Metal. Metal was cold. But there was no metal here… No, no, there was. He was metal, but since _he_ was metal, he wasn’t cold. He only gave cold.

_No._

The voice was back, more forceful. Either it was wrong or he was wrong, but he couldn’t tell which. But the voice snuck its way closer in his empty mind and it felt like… _something_. It felt…warm. Wise. Powerful. Important. All the things he wasn’t.

Except there was one thing he and the presence had in common: they were both nameless.

She had a form, though, unlike how he felt. She was large and feline, with four paws and broad wings. Her body formed from a cyan glow and then morphed to a liquid, wispy gold, and she flew closer to him. But she was still far, out of reach—just barely there at the edge of his emptiness. But she was Something. And right now, he knew that she was the only thing that tethered him and kept him away from the Nothing.

—o0o—

Keith had not left the Red Lion’s hangar. Hunk had quietly slipped him food and laid it at the great lion’s feet, only part of which was ever halfheartedly eaten. Keith hardly wanted to survive at this point, he only wanted Shiro _back_.

He had lost Shiro once before, and it nearly destroyed him. Keith, for all of his lone wolf tendencies, had slipped and made a drastic mistake. One time, all those years ago, he dared to trust somebody—just that one somebody. And that one somebody had been lost to the unforgiving void of space, and Keith couldn’t handle it. He had relied on Shiro in a way he never should have, and Keith suffered for it.

But then, by some stroke of luck Keith had never possessed, Shiro came back. Or at least, a part of him did. Takashi Shirogone had been lost in the rings of the Galra prisoner ship, but a shred of Shiro came back to him and Keith thought that just maybe, the universe didn’t hate him as much as he thought. He thought wrong, because just as he was getting used to having somebody to lean on again, Shiro was ripped away once more in a cruel twist of fate. The message was clear: Keith was destined to be alone, and he had to deal with it. No family, no friends, no pain of loss—that was the way Keith’s life worked.

Yet still, a childish part of Keith blindly held on. The Red Lion had become a quiet and incessant staple in his new life, and Keith didn’t want to lose her too. So he curled up in her cockpit in silence, the only thing rooting him to some bit of sanity the tactile touch of her alien metal and the steady thrum of her life-force that rumbled like a distant purr.

The doors to the Red Lion’s hangar slid open, and Hunk hesitantly scooted up to the lion. He looked pale and flushed, his one rich brown skin washed out; his body trembled slightly, but a watery smile that didn’t reach his eyes remained. Hunk had no doubt thrown himself into the kitchen or caring for others, trying to outrun the pain that would inevitably catch up to him. Keith didn’t care enough to run anymore—he had played this game before and he knew he would lose—and was only resigned to hide from it.

“Hey, I brought you some more food. You gotta’ be hungry up there,” Hunk called softly, as if raising his voice would shatter Keith. (Distantly, Keith hated being treated like he was fragile, but he was and he hated that more, but he was also too broken to care. It was a vicious cycle.)

Keith should have felt bad for not saying anything. He would have ignored Hunk completely, but the Red Lion had already automatically turned on the video and the sound with an audible _click_ , and had undoubtedly turned on the speaker too; it was almost as if the mechanical feline _wanted_ Keith to talk. Well, it wasn’t working.

“It’s not _exactly_ like it, but I made burritos,” Hunk continued, offering the plate to the Red Lion. His stomach rumbled rebelliously, but moving required a will and effort he didn’t have at the moment.

Hunk left the plate, his face clearly expressing how torn and upset Hunk was. It hurt Keith, somewhere deep down, to do this to his friend.

 _Friend_.

No, Keith couldn’t have friends; his friends _left_ or they _died_. Keith’s gut twisted painfully and hot tears of regret that Keith didn’t know he had sprang forth, and he curled in on himself in the pilot chair. Hunk shouldn’t like him, or even come near him: Keith was a curse. And with that painful truth, he squeezed his eyes shut and desperately wished that the world would swallow him whole.

—o0o—

He didn’t know why, but he strained himself to get closer to her, as she did to him. She inched closer, painfully so, and he realized that she held a part of him. What, he didn’t know—he didn’t know much right now, though he felt like he should—but he was determined. It was a familiar, foreign feeling that settled in his being, but it was there and it held him together like the golden wisps of her form.

Another feeling rose, and it wasn’t his. He felt her heart, her courage, her resolve, her passion, her fear, and it drew him closer. There was a part of him—the part that continually sank—that shied away from the Feelings, but it was outweighed by the other part that desperately wanted to be Something.

 _Reach, my cub, reach_ , the voice urged. It was beginning to strengthen with the arrival of its host; her voice was strong and unshakable, with the resolve of a Queen and of a Mother. He obeyed her without question, her tone comforting and her presence achingly familiar. Something like fingertips stretched, almost reaching her outstretched wings.

Black. That was one of her names, he thinks. It wasn’t _her_ name, but she claimed it, and that made it hers. Why she would, he didn’t know, but as he called for Black she solidified. Black’s wingtips turned purple, a violet and then a red racing down to white at her sides. A black color mixed with a soft white wove itself around her body, and the lioness’ eyes remained gold. Her form brought her strength, and Black surged to his reaching soul and they collided.

Just as he knew her name, she knew his, and a wave like a wind blew over him and brought him to the place where he hid from himself.

_“You’re destined for great things, Takashi. You mustn’t let some childish man hamper you.” Ms. Garcia’s raspy voice—worn with age and exasperation—was shockingly real and warm compared to the bitter tone it normally held. It made Takashi look up at the older woman in surprise. Mostly from the correct use of his name. (She was prone to forgetting it; whether it was on purpose or not, he wasn’t sure.)_

_The eleven-year-old boy swung his legs over the step, acutely aware of the rarity that was Ms. Garcia taking the time to speak to him. But she always spoke the truth. “Takashi,” she sighed. “You didn’t belong there, but you don’t belong here either. You’re a smart boy; don’t you waste that.” Ms. Garcia turned to leave, back to the other kids in the group home. Her movements were slow with age, but she made up for it with feistiness, that was for sure._

_Almost as if she knew Takashi was rubbing the sore spots on his arms, she paused. “Don’t you forget that; those will go away, but don’t you forget your potential, Takashi.”_

_With a clenched fist, Takashi vowed that he wouldn’t. He would become a pilot—the greatest the world had ever seen—and he’d leave this place in the dust._

Takashi… Was that his name? It felt familiar, but it wasn’t it. Takashi wasn’t there anymore; he was nothing but a memory. But what happened to Takashi? If he wasn’t Takashi, who was he?

The lioness rumbled wordlessly, reminding him she was with him, but the sound was apologetic. Then more crashed into him, and he found himself clinging to Black as the memories tried to sweep him away.

_“Champion is victorious!” The crowds cheered with the announcer, thumping with excitement._

_The limp body rolled when Champion nudged it with his foot. He scowled at it, feeling the gouges left by its claws on the front of his left shoulder and chest. But Champion paid no mind to the pain; he knew he would have to deal with it with nothing but numbing cream that didn’t always completely work—that was one of the benefits of being Champion—so he elected to glare at the corpse instead._

_Perhaps it didn’t deserve to die at first, but the minute it was pitted against him that became its fate. The lizard-beast fought valiantly, and Champion saluted it for trying._

_The witch was watching him sourly, like a spider watches prey that is just out of reach. She is no longer his Master now, and Champion takes sadistic pleasure in this. He doesn’t know what to think of the bi-polar Galra that now controls his leash, but he lets Champion fight more regularly than Haggar had, and he appreciates that, in a twisted way._

_Fighting in the ring shouldn’t have been his solace, but Champion preferred it to the Cold Room with the Metal Table. There, he was nothing but a worm; here, he was Champion, and any power over himself he could retain he took pleasure in._

_There was a thread of disappointment when the adrenaline of the fight wore away and the sentries came to return him to his new cell. His new Master stood beside them, watching, but Champion elected to ignore them as he let the drones usher him back like the animal he was. He wouldn’t let them drag him anymore; there were few dignities Champion was allowed, but he was determined to hold on to every last one—walking of his own volition, without chain or muzzle, was one of the few rare ones._

_A cold anger and jaded resignation settled in the adrenaline’s stead, drowning out the pain as it always did. Champion leveled a flat glare at his new Master as he crossed the threshold to his cell and hardly blinked as the door closed, surrendering him to darkness._

He gasped. No, he _couldn’t_ be Champion…right? That wasn’t…it didn’t feel _right_. Memories—so many new, fresh, forgotten memories—continued to flood him and he held onto Black like a lifeline. Was that really who Takashi had become? Perhaps, but that couldn’t be who he was.

He wouldn’t accept it. He didn’t want to.

His metal arm ached like his scars. The proof of Champion’s existence was undeniably there—all of it—and he realized how well off he was not remembering. However, Black continued to wrap herself around him, her violet wings around his form protectively.

**No, you are more, my cub.**

The last onslaught of memories was not like the previous storm, and instead, gently descended upon him like a cloud.

_“Shiro, moooove,” Lance whined sleepily. Shiro blinked, still groggy from sleep and clueless as to why Lance needed him to move. Unconsciously, his leg—which felt heavy—shifted, and Lance hummed happily as a result._

_And that was when Shiro remembered where he was: he wasn’t in his own bed, but rather, one of the rec rooms. They were watching The Lion King from Pidge’s laptop, and Lance and Hunk had armed the area with an unholy amount of pillows and blankets for their movie-viewing comfort. He wasn’t sure when they all dropped off, but Shiro was now acutely aware that they had fallen asleep in a massive paladin-pile right there where they lay._

_Shiro smiled at the sight. Or at least, what he could see—er, feel—of it from his position. Lance was draped over his leg and using Hunk’s chest as a pillow, while Hunk cuddled Shiro’s left arm like a teddy bear, snoring steadily. Pidge was at his right arm, her cheek happily pressed in his elbow despite it being metallic. Her legs were thrown haphazardly over Keith, who was curled up at Shiro’s side._

_It truly was a terrible time to pee._

_Luckily, Shiro was quite adept at pushing those kinds of bodily functions to the side. He didn’t want to disturb the others, not when they were so peaceful._

_Peace. It occurred to Shiro, belatedly, that he had slept for who knows how long without a hitch: no nightmares, no restlessness. It was a strange feeling, to say the least, but he couldn’t help but to smile in his relief._

_He took his free hand—Pidge didn’t hinder it completely from her spot at his elbow—and ruffled Keith’s hair when the teen mumbled something about pumpkins in his sleep. (Shiro knew Keith, and he knew that the kid could say the weirdest things while sleeping, so the action didn’t surprise him in the slightest.) Keith pressed closer to Shiro, the heat-vampire as he ever was, with contentment. Hunk, too, seemed to take the moment to hold on even tighter to Shiro’s arm. It was almost as if they were subconsciously aware that it was time to get up, and they didn’t want to._

_Shiro stayed like that, trapped underneath paladins like one would be under sleeping kittens, for a while longer until his internal clock demanded things like breakfast and movement along with its previous commands. Time to wake the kids._

_“Rise and shine, sleepyheads!” Shiro slowly sat up, shaking himself from the pile. Pidge slipped from his arm with an irritated groan, though Hunk somehow manage to maintain a grip on his other arm despite not yet returning to the waking world._

_Lance yawned. “Morning already? Five more minutes…” He turned over to face away from Shiro like one would an alarm clock, still using Hunk’s abdomen like a pillow._

_Shiro rolled his eyes as he assessed the clock on the wall. “We would have started training fifteen minutes ago.”_

_There was a collective groan—even from Keith, which surprised Shiro—at the mention of training, and Shiro managed to roll his eyes with more exasperation. “There’s breakfast too.”_

_Lance stretched happily. “Food does sound nice right about now,” he agreed, magically more receptive than he was mere moments ago. “What’s for breakfast, Hunk?”_

_The yellow paladin had yet to fully awaken and was still a little groggy as a result. “I dunno…food?”_

_Pidge rubbed her eyes with a yawn, groping about with her hand for a minute until she produced her glasses from Keith’s shoulder. “What I would give for a waffle right now…”_

_Keith sat up, cracking his back in the process. “Funny, that happens to be one of the only things Shiro can actually cook.”_

_“I resent that.” Shiro, despite having been insulted, smiled nonetheless. It was true—he could cook a mean bowl of spaghetti and waffles. Those were his specialties, and everything else was decidedly…not._

_“We have some stuff that acts like flour,” Hunk put in, more awake now. “And we got those eggs… I don’t know about milk, but that urvri stuff kind of acts like it…”_

_Shiro huffed. “You just want to cook something so breakfast will take longer, don’t you?” They smiled sheepishly. And it was working, darn it._

_Even Keith elbowed him lightly. “Whatever. Just cook your magic waffles already; I’m hungry.”_

_Shiro laughed, and they migrated to the kitchen. When Shiro failed the first three waffles because he couldn’t tell when the green food turned ‘golden-brown,’ it was Lance and Hunk that got a good chuckle. When they stirred the batter with a ‘bottle-opener,’ Coran laughed at all of their expenses. When Pidge stole Lance’s waffle right from under him, it was Keith who burst out laughing and Pidge snickered with pride._

_It felt natural, their banter. Shiro forgot his problems as they played and teased and laughed the morning away, and the world felt brighter._

Shiro gasped as the darkness fell away, lifting from his chest and shoulders. Soft light filtered in about him, and everything became clearer. His mind emerged from its fog, and the void that consumed him vanished and Shiro felt solid again. _Real_ again.

He still wasn’t completely sure what was happening though. His brain was swirling about in a storm of memories, but Shiro wasn’t completely swept up by them anymore. He was free, and he might’ve even cried in relief.

Black was still there; he was acutely aware of that. The logical part of his brain that was only slowly beginning to come back to him told Shiro that this was strange, but like a child he accepted it in the midst of the crazy for now. Shiro simply buried his face in her soft black fur, and held on.

* * *

  _"...It burns for a moment but_  
_But then it numbs you_  
_Takes you and leaves you just_  
_Caught in the grey."_

\- Icon for Hire, "The Grey"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter--the scene with Shiro, at least--was one of my favorite things that I have ever written. I was proud of myself, okay?
> 
> See ya' Friday! Comments inspire me. Just saying.


	2. The Way Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey of a thousand miles starts with the first step. But that first step is always the hardest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, here it is. This chapter, along with the next one, are very transitional, so... Bear with me. This one is a little shorter than the last, but they'll pick up soon I promise. 
> 
> Also, I realize that the song for this chapter and the last are the same; that is pure coincidence. The same song just happened to fit both chapters. (If you never listened to it, go check it out!) There will be a song motif for each chapter, in case you're wondering...

_"And the hardest part in all of this is I don't think I know my way back home..."_

\- Icon for Hire, "The Grey"

* * *

 

Many people mistakenly assumed that Allura had experienced a lot of things: that she was no stranger to any and all types of horrid situations out there, and therefore knew how to handle them all.

The truth was, she wasn’t. While Allura was well acquainted with disaster, she hardly knew how to correct it. But she was royalty—bluffing was in her blood. Allura could take most things in stride and pretend to know what she was doing; she would emulate what she believed a solution could be, and went with it. If Allura ever stopped and expressed her many doubts, she wasn’t sure if she could get back going again. Besides, people looked to her for wisdom—not only the paladins, the poor humans who believed Allura mighty and respectable, but the rest of the alliance as well.

So Allura would put up her façade, imagining what her father might do, and went with it. But none of that changed the fact that deep down, underneath the royal postures and dressings, she was but a child. A child without a father, without a home, and without a clue. All she had were memories of what her parents had done, what the old paladins had done, and her faith—but they could only get her so far.

They couldn’t save Shiro, for one thing.

Allura wasn’t new to loss, but she had dared to hope she wouldn’t become re-acquainted this early. She hadn’t even aimed to grow attached: they were the paladins, she was the princess. It was proper, official. But somehow…somehow Allura had laughed with them, cried with them, cared for them…

And now, one was missing and the rest were broken.

“The scans just came back, princess,” Coran’s voice piped up. It was laced with a grim tone that she dreaded hearing. “It seems our fears were founded…the paladins’ quintessence appears abnormally low.”

Immediately, she strode over to where Coran was and stared at the readings herself. “This truly is disturbing…” Allura had wished they had been wrong. It took a little while for the Alteans to pull themselves out of mourning and shock to notice the other paladins acting strangely. Even in the face of pain and loss, they were usually more…vibrant. Angry, in a situation like this, but vibrant all the same. Instead, they appeared…dead. They rarely talked, Keith had refused to speak altogether and hid, there were no bursts of anger or even strong sadness…

Coran had remembered it. During the battle, Haggar had drained Voltron of a large amount of quintessence. Allura tried to forget that moment; she was so sure that they hadn’t… It should’ve killed them, and when it didn’t, Allura only felt grateful. But now, it seemed, they didn’t come out unscathed.

Some numbers flickered, and Coran was quick to point it out. “They are slowly rising back to normal levels, however. While the humans’ quintessence isn’t as concentrated as an Altean’s, it does appear to be quite durable and persistent. I predict an another quintant or two, they’ll be back to their colorful selves,” he assured.

“We can only hope,” Allura sighed, fidgeting nervously with her sleeves. They had shoved the Castle into a remote and hidden corner of the universe to regroup. Even though they had succeeded in taking down Zarkon, Haggar was still at large, and they shouldn’t leave anything to chance. But it felt wrong to recuperate while one of their own was missing, however necessary. It felt _wrong_ that their victory and altruistic intention should be met with such tragedy.

Her gaze drifted to the starboard, to the depths of space lying emotionless on the other side, as if it would grace her with an answer. The universe remained impassive. It simply did not care; it cared not about the goods and evils that circulated within it, nor whether it swallowed innocent and noble people in its vast void, nor whether those it held were whole or broken. The universe remained unbothered.

The former princess of a fallen, once-amicable planet was struck with the sudden realization of just how insignificant they were.

—o0o—

The world was painted with indigoes and purples, and an airless breeze lazily caressed the willowing grass that surrounded them. Shiro recognized the Astral Plane for what it was, but it wasn’t as bland as before; everything was brighter, richer, and more vivid.

The lioness had not left his side, and for that, Shiro was immensely grateful. He hardly remembered what had transpired before or in the lightless void, but he remembered Black digging him out; he also was aware of the lingering fear and weakness that remained in his bones. There were also the memories.

With frightening clarity, Shiro recalled every detail from his childhood to their attack on Zarkon. It was that one hellish year that bore heavily on his mind, particularly. The vast severity had already dealt its blow—the echoes only remained now, buried in black fur amongst teardrops—but the reality of his life and situation made Shiro feel smaller than usual. And yet, he also was keenly aware at just how lucky he was to be alive. It could almost instill a sardonic pride in his heart, that he managed to survive nonetheless.

But that, strangely enough, was hardly his focus. Instead, it was the bit he _didn’t_ remember that bothered him. “What happened?” Shiro asked, gaze focused on the tranquil, waving grass.

Black was lying next to Shiro, pressed close like a mother. Her head, twice the size of his and black with a white muzzle, bent to better face him, her golden eyes warm. She did not speak to him, but instead, showed him.

 _He was screaming, but she doubted he was aware of it. Their bodies shook as the harsh energy accosted them, but it did not faze the Black Paladin. Shiro would not be deterred; Zarkon would be defeated. His team needed him; the_ universe _needed him. The paladin, despite the way his body ached, thrust the bayard into her port._

_The stench of the dark quintessence nearly overwhelmed her. Her former paladin wielded the pained life-force of a thousand scourged, and it clashed with that which was bestowed upon her. Her current paladin was smaller, however, and the attack could not be withheld from the cockpit—its source of contact. Shiro had never felt anything of this magnitude before; Haggar’s magic was awfully similar, but not as intense and terrible as this was. It angered her that her cub should recognize this pervasive a pain, but it was not the worst of it: the quintessence was tearing at his, trying to swallow it._

_It was succeeding._

_Black panicked. It had been vorns since any part of her had felt so clear and blinding an emotion—not since she was Whole, she tells herself. But she listens to it, terrified to lose the newest Part of her._

_Shiro saw Zarkon drift away, and he felt his connection to his team snap. Blindly, he flails in the darkness that succumbs him as their voices fade. Black dives into the Void after him, leaving herself to save his essence, and drags him to the only place she could access this deep in the fabric of reality—the Inbetween._

He blinked as the memory faded into the present, aware that Black is still watching him carefully. The memory was his, though not entirely, but Shiro would have hardly known; his and Black’s experience was so interwoven that Shiro could feel each perspective overlaid by the other to the point that they were hardly distinguishable.

He remembered the fight with Zarkon— _defeating_ Zarkon—more vividly now, just as he could feel the phantom cold grip of the dying, corrupted quintessence on his soul.

Shiro shivered, even though there was no chill. That had been…close. Unconsciously, Shiro gripped Black’s fur, as it was the only thing rooting him to reality (if you could call the Inbetween ‘reality’) at the moment. Shiro had flirted with death before, but with nothing as intimate as that; the unhindered view of Death left him more than a little shaken.

But then, a new realization struck him.

The _team_. Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Allura, Coran, _Keith_. If he was _here_ , then what about _them_? His fist tightened, his chest heaving. The thought of them being alone worried him without reason. He swore, to himself and to their unaware families, that he would be there to protect them. Shiro had gotten them involved in a war they didn’t ask for. Even if they did prove themselves capable, Shiro irrationally needed to be there.

Black growled, snapping him out of his panic. The lioness’ golden eyes bored into his. **Stay calm, my cub** , she all but commanded. Her voice was smooth and clear and unmistakable, yet still just a sound contrived in his mind. **They are safe. _We_ are safe.**

“But,” he protested weakly. “I left them. I left them alone, but I promised—”

 **They have each other,** Black argued gently. **Trust them.**

“I know, but… But…” Shiro curled inwards on himself, drawing his knees to his chest. He hated the broken tinge that his voice had. It made him sound like some sniveling _child_. He couldn’t be one anymore, even if he _could_. He was a soldier. A paladin. A _leader_.

Some leader though. Here he was, tearstained and hiding in bliss nothingness, simply trusting that the others were okay. Like the coward he was. He knows, deep in his mind, that it was not his choice to come back to this strange plain of existence, but an equally deep feeling begged to stay. He wanted to be with his friends, but he _didn’t want to leave_. It was so…calm here. Peaceful. And nothing hurt. It was easier to hide from the memories of _what_ he once was too.

It’s selfish of him, he knows, to want to stay, but that doesn’t stop the desire no matter how hard he tries. He shoves it downwards, burying it under responsibility—maybe then he could believe his lie that he’s a good leader.

 **Stop.** The Black Lion turns her head to stare at him with her deep, golden eyes. **You are too harsh on yourself, cub.**

Shiro can’t believe his ears. (His mind? The lioness never moves her mouth, but he _hears_ her.) The Black Lion, the head of Voltron that demands a just and confident leader, thinks he’s being too _hard_ on himself? Wasn’t that what she wanted? For him to be a good leader?

It’s as if she hears his unspoken questions. And considering their bond, he’s sure she can. **You are already strong, my paladin. But no creature can be strong all the time.**

Shiro nearly chokes on his bitter laugh. “Well, not every creature is as messed up as I am,” he muttered brokenly. He wanted to run away. Several times, in fact. His memories confirmed this, and it left a sour taste in his mouth, to truly realize just how _weak_ he was.

She growls, very suddenly, and Shiro jerks. Black makes a circle around him, pressing her soft fur even harder into his side and she very nearly sits on top of him. **You are not broken** , she presses. **You are not dead. You are not a traitor. You are not a mess of words with no thought. You think. You love. You protect. Not broken. You are _mine_.**

Her fierce feeling of _pride_ and _love_ crashes into Shiro like a wave. An onslaught of memories and feelings cascade over him like a mighty wind.

_He is cordial to the princess, and she is intrigued. He is scarred yet willing to fight still, and she is impressed. He stands protectively over the cubs, who listen to him, and she approves. He strategizes, and she is glad. He protects his cubs in battle, and she is proud. He puts them to bed and yet wakes from his nightmares, and she worries but understands. He is fierce and loyal in battle, and she fights with him. He buries his own fears and comforts the others, and she wants to hold him. His heart is pure, yet his sorrows deep, and she claims him as her own and wraps herself around him._

Shiro blinks out of the rush of emotions that washed over him, surprised. He had seen through her eyes before, but never to this extent. To see the last however-many-months flash by him in the blink of an eye, yet entirely through her eyes, was humbling and amazing all at the same time. Everything was small and insignificant to her—time, space, mortality… Yet still, she carries him and cares for him, and Shiro regrets that he never saw her for who she was until much later, when she had him pegged from the beginning.

It makes him feel small and infinitesimal, yet warmed and loved all at the same time. He doesn’t deserve it.

A white tail with a tuft of gold flies into view and smacks him in the cheek. “Hey!” Shiro retorts. Apparently, she has no tolerance for his pity parties.

She purrs in amusement. **‘Pity party’ is a strange term, but I will accept it. You must stop these parties of pity.**

Honestly, Shiro couldn’t tell if she was mocking him or not. Everything she did was with such a straight face. (Metaphorically speaking, at least.) He chuckled dryly regardless. “Easier said than done, Black…”

She licked his cheek suddenly, her tongue rough like a cat’s but still relatively smooth. “What was that for?!” Shiro cried, wiping his cheek. If it wasn’t so affectionate, Shiro would be more grossed out.

This time, her amusement is very clear, her eyes wide and warm. **You are upset; licking helps.**

“I’m not sure that’s the way it wor—hey!” Black licked him again, for good measure, taking the human in her paws and situating him like a cub. To think, the strong and noble leader figure of the Defender of the Universe was such a mother-hen.

Shiro wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but he found comfort in the crook of her neck. He let himself forget, for a moment longer, before he pulled himself away from her warm presence. “How do we get back?” he asked. Somehow, Shiro was more aware of his being than he was the last time; he was here—in body and in mind, though it defied logic—and the world was an eternity away yet right below them.

Black did not answer immediately. **It is complicated** , she began. **The Inbetween lies in the cracks of Space and Time; the physical plane exists all around us, but is never here. You must allow your heart to guide you to where it lies, and only then will you find yourself back in the real world.**

He was hoping for something simpler. A road map or ruby shoes to click, or something of the sort. Shiro looked around him, at endless fields of purple, and couldn’t find a place to start.

**Follow your instinct, paladin. Only it can guide you home.**

Home. That was something that Shiro gave up on, in the dark shadows of a bloodied cell. He accepted that it was gone, both physically unattainable and emotionally useless. Even when he walked the surface of Earth again, that void he made hadn’t been filled. His life on Earth was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had no roots; he was but a leaf in the wind, sojourning with no place to return to.

So how was he supposed to follow his heart home, when he didn’t have one?

—o0o—

There is a rage that surfaces from the bones and settles on the heart like a vice. It cries for righteous retribution, its clarion voice like a war trumpet. It shakes and rattles the being and stirs the soul, demanding to be satiated. Yet, it accomplishes nothing.

It boiled in Pidge’s veins and precluded her from rest. She was all too happy to let the rage burn, at nothing and at everything, as it was easier than lying down and mourning. Besides, there was nothing to mourn. If Pidge believed otherwise, then there was nothing to carry her onwards on her mission.

Questions had answers; this was the way of the universe. Pidge was the huntress, searching and seizing answers and making something of them. She was born out of tragic mystery, and quickly filled the void of Katie’s loss and so much more. Yet, Pidge was failing now. That quest for answers was a step too far away. She should have so much progress by now, after days of searching, but what she sought was still a horizon away.

It was as if she was wandering aimlessly. Pidge wanted nothing more than to find the trail and follow it, but her propensity towards seeking had vanished from the cockpit of her mind. No matter what Pidge did, and what she tried, it was never enough. She couldn’t decipher clue from herring, and her innate impetus that fueled her had depleted and left nothing but the squeaky rage.

Pidge had never been more frustrated in her life.

Being angry was easy. But being productive with it? Not as much as Pidge would like. What was worse, was that Pidge can hear her father, her mother, Matt, _Shiro_ —all the ones she’s lost, one way or another—telling her the exact same thing.

“Dammit!” she cursed to the air, slamming a fist on her work table. Some crumpled sheets of paper rattled and fell off the surface. Jumbled codes and numbers stared at her blankly, revealing nothing. Hunk’s meal lay abandoned at the corner of the desk. Hot tears swelled in her eyes, but Pidge angrily wiped them.

All she had were more problems, when she was supposed to be fixing them. Shiro was still gone, and all she had accomplished was hurting Hunk. She shouldn’t have yelled at him like that, but it was too late to take it back; Pidge had been angry, enamored with that useless rage, and took it out on the wrong thing. If only she could focus it on something that was actually productive.

Pidge glared at the readings from the Black Lion, willing something to jump out at her, but all she could see was Hunk’s wounded expression. A good person, perhaps, would go seek him for a proper apology, but Pidge knew that she would screw that up too and opted to stay put.

She felt so _useless_. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, but it wasn’t common either; even when she was on Earth, hunting for answers as to the whereabouts of her dad and Matt, she was doing _something_. Chasing after clues, even if it was at a crawl. But here, surrounded by technology more sophisticated than she could imagine, in her element of expertise, she had _nothing._

A pained groan, more like a whimper, escaped Pidge’s throat as she slid downwards. Suddenly, she felt exhausted. All that rage that fueled Pidge into nothingness was waning, unsatisfied, and leaving with all of her energy. She needed rest—sleep, something. She didn’t want it, but it seemed her body did. As much as Pidge hated the reality of it, she was human—she would fall apart eventually.

_Just lay down._

Pidge didn’t want to, but she _did_. Of their own accord, her eyes closed and her body drifted—but only for a moment. Or so Pidge told herself. She jerked herself from a dreamless reprieve, a mere blink in her endeavors, and set back to work.

The clock on her computer, the one she stubbornly set to Earth-time, read _9:52 p.m._

“What?!” How had she ‘closed her eyes’ for _eight hours?!_ She didn’t even sleep that long in normal circumstances!

In a flurry, Pidge set back to checking her tests and making up for lost time. Her hands flew across her three keyboards, head swiveling from screen to screen as she made sure the scans were still active and running. She had to admit, she felt great, energized by the mega-nap she accidentally took. There was a distinct feeling of _smugness_ that radiated from the back of her mind, not hers in the slightest, that had Pidge cutting her eyes at the green giant behind her.

Cheeky lion.

 _Look again_.

The thought came unbidden, clear and lucid and not quite her own. Adjusting her glasses, Pidge drifted back towards the middle screen. The readings from the cockpit were useless before, but a determined stubbornness that fluttered back into her chest had her looking them over again.

Hazel eyes darted across the screen, before something unusual that she had skimmed over before struck her. Pidge read it again and again, and again for good measure. That… It didn’t seem possible. And it was so small, it was so easy to miss—but it _had_ to be something!

Fingers flying so fast that they skidded across the keys, Pidge hurriedly printed the readings and sprinted to the command center. “If anybody can hear me _meet me on the control deck!”_ she screamed as she ran through the halls.

When she arrived, Allura and Coran were already there, looking startled. Pidge ignored them momentarily, bringing up the readings on larger screens and spreading them out.

“You’re moving faster than a herkkal being chased by a jaargoon!” Coran exclaimed. “What’s all the fuss about?”

“Is something wrong?” Allura asked, voice strained.

Lance stumbled in, brown eyes confused and eyebrows knit as he regarded the youngest paladin. “Is something on fire?” Hunk followed in after him, a towel still in his hands that he wrung about nervously. Even more surprisingly, a very pallid and exhausted Keith wordlessly slid into the room; no one dared comment on his presence, lest they scare him off.

Pidge shook her head vehemently, the only thing on fire her eyes. “No, _better_ —look at this!” She gestured to the charts excited. Blank stares met her.

Coran squinted at it, before his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh _Raefell_ —that’s…that’s not possible… When was this?”

“In the Black Lion’s cockpit, while we were fighting Zarkon.” The other occupants of the room gasped in realization. Pidge continued to point out the insanely high numbers. “I was able to pull it from her dash manually when Black didn’t respond; it’s nothing fancy, just the life support and conditions in the cabin. But look, _here_ , the level of electricity increases, but there’s no clear source. When I looked closer—see, _there_ —you can see that the _air particles themselves_ have become hyper-charged and are vibrating _really rapidly_. Now, I know purely theoretical, but…”

Hunk stepped closer, the kitchen towel in his hands slipping to the floor, as he stared slack jawed at the readings. “Transmutation,” he breathed. “It’s… It’s just a theory, but a pretty sound one, and _this_ …this is _just_ what it would look like. But how…”

“That blast from Zarkon,” Lance realized, fingers tapping. “ _Dios mio_ , that big _zap_ th-that he hit us with, before the sword formed and…” He trailed off, not needing to say anymore. The picture was becoming clearer now, piece by piece.

“This… _transmutation_ , you call it,” Allura interjected. “What do you suggest happened?”

“It’s hard to say,” Pidge started, her fingers jiggling her glasses in habit. Honestly, she was working off of fumes here—but fumes that held a lot of potential. “But it would explain why his…his body wasn’t there; something could have happened molecularly.”

Coran stroked his mustache in thought. She could tell by the man’s rapt attention and sharp eyes that he had a clue as to the _what_. “This reminds me of the teleduv, when the power supply is amplified by the lenses and the chamber can enter warp drive.”

“So…” The room stilled when Keith spoke, the dark-haired teen approaching closer. Pidge hadn’t seen Keith since the incident, but he looked terrible—his skin was paler than usual, lacking a healthy glow, his hair flat and his violet eyes tired. But something was sparking beneath their surface as he regarded the clues they had gathered. “What you’re saying is that there’s a chance Shiro was… _transported?_ ”

Everyone’s breath caught in their throats. Pidge, of course, refused to even acknowledge the possibility that Shiro was simply _gone_ , but the fear was still there, whispering in the back of her mind. Keith voicing the new very real possibility that he was transported into the unknown… Well, it was still not the best situation to be in, but that meant he was _alive_. Pidge could feel hope trickle back into the Castle at the thought.

“The energy doesn’t quite match the teleduv, of course—the luxrite has a very unique signature, after all—so I’m not quite sure just _how_ Shiro was transported, if that’s what happened,” Coran continued. “Pidge, if you can show me the rest of your scans, perhaps we can gain some more information on the matter.”

“I can come with you and offer another pair of eyes,” Hunk offered. Pidge had to smile at that; as much as she loved her me-time, Hunk was the best lab partner she’s ever had in her life. (And that includes Matt; while she loves her brother dearly, she and him clashed often when collaborating, each trying to assert their own plans into action without much regard for the other.)

Allura stood straighter, her chin raising in that dignified princess-pose that meant business that she often employed. “I will reach out to our allies and see if they have noticed anything or have pertinent information—Lance, you’ll be with me. Keith, you go help Coran fetch our old tomes from the library for research. We can work through this. We _will_ find Shiro.”

They headed off, set on their tasks with vigor. For the first time since the Battle, the Paladins of Voltron were up and fighting again, determined to get their leader and teammate back…

…from wherever he was…

* * *

_"...Is it worth the journey or do I let my heart settle here?"_

\- Icon for Hire, "The Grey"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're finally getting their butts in gear! Yay! 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment; I love to hear your thoughts and suggestions! And questions too.


	3. Running to Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To those who have never had one, home is a foreign concept. Teaching ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo. This is a long one. A little slow, I apologize--again, that darn transition...

_"I wish that I could say that there's no better place than home,_  
_But home's a place that I have never known."_

\- "On the Run" from Steven Universe

* * *

 

They had their work cut out for them, that was for sure. Hunk tilted his head this way and that, hoping that a new angle would make the sprawl of work and readings easier to decipher. Sadly, it wasn’t helping.

They had been at it for hours now. Coran and Keith had drudged up dozens of datapads and books from the bowels of the Castle, flipping through them recursively as he searched for any and all mentions of any phenomena that was remotely like the one they hypothesized; Pidge scribbled down any relevant thought that flitted through her head, bouncing around the different boards and screens like a caffeinated hummingbird. Meanwhile, Hunk studied their findings diligently, hoping to find some tangible solution, or at least a definite parameter.

Theoretical data analysis was never his strong-suit. Hunk much preferred something his hands could touch, to physically work with, to detached numbers and formless scenarios. Numbers and lines of code and far-fetched ideas were Pidge’s expertise, not his; he was here to help her mold those floating numbers into reality.

“I find that book you wanted—I think,” Keith announced as he re-entered the room, burdened by a much-too-large book covered in space-dust.

“Oh good!” Coran hurried over and snatched the monstrous book as if it was a paper weight, scurrying back to his claimed corner of the lab/hanger. “Ah, I haven’t seen this book in _ages_ —it was my grandfather’s, you know—now it should be…ha! There!” The Altean advisor trailed off as he voraciously scanned the pages, comparing the text to the three datapads he had balanced on his knee. Hunk had discovered that much like Earth, Altea had shifted from physical hard copies of books to electronic versions. The electronic datapads were numerous compared to the books, and in much better shape after their ten thousand year hiatus. The books appeared worse for the wear, but were functional nonetheless. Coran, however, seemed to pay little mind to the way the spines were falling off the pages as he vigorously searched the ancient tomes.

“Keith, can he give me a hand over here?” Pidge called. “Hold down those keys while I enter this.” Keith scooted over to Pidge’s location at her call, acting as her second pair of hands.

Hunk turned back to the schizophrenic array of notes and data with a frown and a huff. He was starting to feel useless, even in his own element—the lab. It was not a new feeling, unfortunately, as it had seemed to settle on him relentlessly these past few days—weeks, even; just like an ill person struggling to recall the experience of health, Hunk could hardly remember what it felt like to be perfectly fine and useful. Even Keith, not adept to the art of science, found use in being Pidge’s and Coran’s personal pack mule.

He needed a new angle. Hunk needed…a model. Yeah, a model—something physical to view that would foster his thought. But first, a drawing.

Hunk dragged over another projector and activated the holographic screen. With the right stylus, the screen functioned just like an electronic white board. He sketched a circle and then added the different districts in space in his grid. Each historic anomaly he carefully marked, making notes to their size and nature when available. Stepping back, Hunk frowned at the sparse and vague information provided, made infinitesimal by both the vastness of the area they had to work with and the lack of pattern they possessed. If only Hunk had more recent information, active readings of cosmic fluctuations…

That’s it!

“Pidge I have an idea!” he cried, the declaration rushed out in an increasingly loud, single breath.

A mop of sandy hair popped up from underneath the console, her glasses crooked from the sudden motion. “What is it?” She scrambled over to his location excitedly, nearly tripping over the mess of cables and wires from her work station in the process.

Hunk gestured to his makeshift map. “If we can get an active readout of the cosmic activity in these regions, we can apply your data and compare, narrowing down our search. We just need a way to scan that layer of energy over a wide area in order to get the data we need.”

Pidge nodded along, her hazel eyes sharply locked on the board as the mental gears in her head visibly whirled in her expression. “Like a sensor, you mean? Maybe… a seismometer!”

“Exactly!” he grinned. Hunk pulled up another screen, sketching a device and drawing a wave around it. “A-a device that’s _just_ like a seismometer, except for cosmic fluctuations! We can give it a pulsator that’ll send out radio waves that’ll react to the cosmic layer and ping back data to the device.” Hunk rubbed his chin. “We’ll need to spread several of these out so that’ll they’ll connect but not overlap, ere-go giving us a blanket over the sectors we need.”

Pidge adjusted her glasses thoughtfully. “We could build something like an EMP, except with the radio waves,” she suggested.

“Now we just need a signature to lock in on… Coran!” Hunk beckoned the Altean over, quickly filling the man in on their plan. If the spark in his zaffre eyes and the twitch of his mustache was anything to go by, Coran was both intrigued and optimistic of their proposition.

“Yes, yes,” he agreed. “That should work… Now, we would just require a—what would you call it… ah, yes!—a _beacon_ that would react to the energy layer of space. Much like a reader would to quintessence, if you will. We can model it after the central conduit in the teleduv—come! We’ll go there now.”

The three headed off, chattering among themselves as they animatedly discussed plans and schematics. Finally, it felt like they were making progress. With the prospect of an actual device, which precedes an actual plan, Hunk felt a rush of confidence and _usefulness_ flood back in. For the first time in a while, Hunk felt a sense of control. They could _do this_. Filled with determination, Hunk got to work. 

—o0o—

He had definitely seen that blade of grass before: he was sure of it. Granted, most all of them looked _exactly the same_.

Shiro felt like he had been walking for hours, and yet also like no time had passed at all. All that lay before him, and behind him, and around him, was _grass_. Waving, violet grass. It was peaceful before; now it was just mocking him.

“Where are we supposed to go again?” Shiro sighed heavily. Black, his one companion in this empty place, had kept pace with him throughout their entire trek thus far. She turned her head towards him briefly, her tail flicking in what Shiro assumed was irritation. Or maybe amusement. Or both.

 **Wherever you wish to seek** , she replied, as cryptically as the last four times.

“Well, I’m not seeking grass,” Shiro deadpanned. “I’m still not sure how the Inbetween is supposed to work.”

He could feel Black’s sigh. **I told you, it’s complicated.** Shiro was beginning to suspect that ‘complicated’ was just another way of saying ‘I have no clue.’ Turns out, giant ancient space cats weren’t the most all-knowing in the universe.

When her tail clips him in the back of the head, he definitely knows it’s from irritation.

**The Inbetween reacts differently, to different souls. But… I have never journeyed this deep into it myself…**

“When _have_ you been here?” he asked, curious. Being here, with Black, only further proved just how _little_ he knew of Voltron and its lions. Shiro could always feel Black, and knew that the lions weren’t mindless machines, but he regrets to admit that Shiro never paid much mind to just _how_ sentient they were—and if they were all like Black, then the answer was: _very_. Now that Shiro had the chance to get to know Black personally, outside of the cockpit, he was going to use it. He had been exposed to more answers than he has in the past year and a half, and he wasn’t going to squander it.

The lioness hummed in thought. **Whenever we leave the corporeal and, as you call it, _phase_ , we pass through this realm. I also touch upon it whenever I wish to bring my paladin into my mind.**

They both remember the last time they were here, when Zarkon appeared. There were questions at the tip of his tongue, but not only did he not want to ruin the peaceful mood, but Shiro was afraid of the some of the answers; he swallowed them instead.

They kept walking through the endless sea of grass. As much as Shiro was really getting sick of the sight, he had to admit it was tranquil and calming. If he were to be honest with himself, there was a small selfish part of him that still didn’t want to leave and face reality; however, there was a larger and still growing part that just wanted to go back to his team.

The surface of the grass shimmered, a ripple momentarily disrupting the rhythmic motion of the field. It was slight, but the paladin couldn’t miss it. Now a little more vigilant than before, Shiro kept walking.

His mind threatened to wander, tempted by the tantalizing open doorways swinging in the back of his mind. Screams emanated from there, fresh and clear, no longer distorted by hazy panic. But no. Shiro steered himself away from the memories yet again, choosing to focus on something—anything—else.

“Does time pass normally here?” he asked, swinging his focus back to the situation at hand. It would be best to know this crazy environment as best he could, and Black knew more than him.

 **You’ll have to talk about it eventually,** Black replied instead. They both knew what she was talking about, but Shiro would prefer he didn’t. It was petulant, perhaps, to ignore it, but it was _safe_. There was a realm of demons brimming at the surface, unstoppable and undeniable, that Shiro was certain would overcome him given the chance.

He frowned, his frustration growing. “It’s irrelevant right now,” Shiro argued. “I’ll deal with it as soon as we are back at the Castle and out of this place.”

The glare he receives from Black reminds him of Mrs. Rose Jenkins, the experienced and stretched-thin mother of four and foster parent of two more, when she was calling an errant child out on their bullshit; Shiro imagines that this must be the paragon of all motherly glares. It's clear that she doesn’t believe him, and frankly, Shiro’s not sure that he blames her.

 **Your mind is not _irrelevant_ , **she hissed. There was more anger radiating from the lioness than Shiro thought possible of the calm head of Voltron, as the lioness whipped around to face him, blocking his path. Her glowing eyes were narrowed, and her tail thrashed violently behind her. **If you suppress your hurt for too long, it will either destroy _you_ or those you care about. **

There was a distinctly ominous air to her words that elicited the most somber of attention. Black’s retort did not just seem to be a mere caution, but a warning birthed from experience. It was enough to make Shiro freeze in his tracks.

Whether it was from intrinsic deduction, or the nearly palpable bond between paladin and lion, Shiro knew: Black had lost a paladin to this before.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, running his left hand through his hair. “I—”

 **Don’t apologize, my cub,** Black sighed. She sounded tired—truly ancient. **But know that swallowing this does not make you stronger, and accepting it does not make you weak.**

He turns his head, unable to face the one that trusts him so. The growing, lingering pit inside of him whispers yet again that he doesn’t deserve her—doesn’t deserve the second chances he is being given. Shiro wants to scream, tell Black to choose someone else. Yet, he doesn’t want to at the same time; it’s selfish, but he can’t stand to lose her—to lose his team. The rational part of Shiro’s brain tries to assure him, but the Pit tells him once again he is unworthy. Now that it has lucid fodder, it is only louder. The pieces of Shiro war with each other, locked in a shouting match he cannot win.

 **Have you already forgotten what I have told you?** The voice breaks through to his mind, patient and stable amidst the cancerous, volatile tumult that rages inside him at the slightest touch. **I chose you, and I don’t regret it. Do not insult me by questioning my choice. Now, you can continue to wallow in your guilt, or you can listen to _me_. Trust me, cub. Do you think I would lie to you?**

Shiro feels like a child again, unable to comprehend that the lies he believes are not true. But he does believe Black. It was so confusing, he just wanted to scream. There was no logical source behind the chaos that churned within him—it was just _there_.

The wind picked up about them, tossing the grass about like a maelstrom; on the wind came the stench of blood. The world darkened, and Shiro hardly noticed the difference.

A wing falls over his shoulders, stilling him—sheltering him. **I _will_ lick you again,** Black warns good-naturedly. She does so too, once more, to prove her point. Shiro will never admit to it, but the action relaxed him—even when he was unaware that he was tense.

“It’s just…It’s just such a _mess_ ,” he lamented, leaning onto her shoulder. It felt odd, to admit such out loud. “I see them all now, _here_ , and it feels so _real_ but it _can’t_ be and I just—” Shiro broke himself off with a groan buried into her fur.

Black licked him again, freeing the lump that closed his throat. “I’m a mess and I can’t…I can’t _fix_ myself. There’s so many pieces, feelings, things I _don’t want_ swirling inside of me and— And what if it’s the dark part of me that wins?” He finishes in a small voice, his unspoken fears spoken at last, even if on a plain of existence that was hardly real.

She gathers him closer to her, warmth and love radiating from her body like a protective blanket. **The fact that you are able to present this worry to me, here, proves that this ‘dark part’ is not dominant. You have been inflicted with hardship, yes, and you have done things—but this is the nature of Life. It does not make you a monster, unless you allow it to—it makes you Real. Only _you_ have the power to define yourself—not Zarkon, not Haggar, not Sendak, not even myself. Just you. Others can define you only if you give them the power to. Don’t give them that; let those voices go.**

It sounded so easy, but it wasn’t. They were locked away, buried in oblivion; if he released them, even to remove them, they would resurface. And Shiro was never sure if they would ever leave should he free them.

But he had been alone before. Alone in the dark, violet-tinted cell that restrained him, the only power his weakened will. Now, Black was there—stronger than he was, more steadfast. She was both the ground beneath his feet and the wings to fly him away.

Shiro didn’t want anyone to see the things he’d done— _he_ didn’t even want to see it. But Black had already seen—and she didn’t turn him away. It was dumbfounding, the fact that she stayed and still trusted him. _Him_ , the murderer and the weapon. The broken soldier.

If he couldn’t fix himself alone, and he wouldn’t allow the pieces of himself to be exposed, then he _could_ undo himself in the presence of Black.

With a deep and shaky breath, Shiro slowly uncoiled the chains in his mind.

It was awful, the reality. As Shiro shared his mind with Black, they walked onward, towards the horizon. She stayed with him and rooted him, and Shiro came face to face with what he’d done. As he recalled the humiliation he’d been through, relived the torture he suffered, and remembered every vivid detail of the faces he ended, she was there.

The grass grew darker and began to shrivel. The sky fell away, the stars chipping off one by one. A wind swept the copper ashes of the plain into the void, carrying away pieces of the scenery bit by bit.

For the first time since he was able and willing, Shiro allowed himself to remember every hellish moment from his year as a prisoner—as a slave. He accepted it, and… he let it go.

The ground began to disappear, chunk by chunk, and the serene world dissolved in nothingness.

For the third time, Shiro fell. But this time, he had someone to catch him.

—o0o—

Keith felt empty. Not as empty, admittedly, as he felt a day ago, a husk in the Red Lion’s cockpit, but there was still a conspicuous chunk missing, viciously torn away yet again, before it had time to heal from last time.

He was trying, though, and that’s what mattered. As easy as it would be to give in and give up, he _wouldn’t_. The fire that burned inside of him distracted from the hole, and filled him with the determination necessary to fill it again.

Keith was not a quitter—if he was, he would have been destroyed long ago. Sheer stubbornness had carried him through life for as long as he could remember, driven by nothing but a need to prove the universe wrong—that he _could_ survive. But then, he found the one person just as stubborn as he was, that had attached himself to Keith and _wouldn’t let go_. Keith was used to being let go, not held on to.

Shiro treated Keith like a brother, and cared for him like one too. No matter how hard Keith tried to shove him away before _he_ was shoved away, Shiro held on like the stubborn, sentimental idiot he was. Shiro took the poor abandoned boy under his wing, without cause or reason, and loved him. If Keith ever had to label anyone as ‘family,’ it would be Shiro.

Shiro was the reason Keith found purpose other than spite; he was one who allowed Keith to discover his calling as a pilot. Sometimes, Keith wonders what would have become of him if Shiro hadn’t helped him discover his own path; he might still be farmed out to random people in the system, or possibly worse.

But Fate was determined to make Keith’s life miserable. Even when Shiro refused to leave him, the Universe ripped him away instead. The only thing that drove Keith was the vain hope that he would find his brother again, or at the very least avenge him.

And it worked, too—Keith found Shiro, and even though the man was not the same one who was lost to him, it was good enough.

But then Shiro was ripped away _again_.

It hurt worse the second time, because Keith had dared to believe that such a tragedy could only happen once.

But _no_. Keith couldn’t think like that—he _wouldn’t_. They _would_ get Shiro back because they _had_ to. This was no ordinary situation, and they wouldn’t lose the freaking _Black Paladin_ to anything less than the end of the world. So, Keith kept going.

Coran, Pidge, and Hunk were keeping him busy, using him as an extra pair of hands, and that was fine. But when they asked him to start taking their seismic devices and planting them around space, Keith was both glad and relieved. A chance to leave the Castle and just fly with Red, while still being productive, was just was Keith needed.

The Red Paladin, after hearing Hunk’s very detailed instructions on how to drop a device and push a button, hastened to his lion’s hangar. To his surprise, he ran straight into Lance.

The Cuban teen grinned at him, even though it lacked its usual gusto. “Hey, Keith, my man—ready to go drop doohickeys?”

Keith blinked at him. “Um, yeah?” It took him a second, but he noticed Lance was in his paladin armor as well. “Wait, you’re coming too?” Since when? Keith tried not to feel annoyed that his alone-time just got ruined but… well, too late.

Lance shot him a thumbs-up. “Of course!” he replied. “You didn’t think you’d have to go alone, did’ya?”

Keith only glared at him. Lance pretended not to notice, and clapped him on the back on the way to Blue’s hangar. “Meet you out there!”

With a silent sigh and a huff, Keith slipped into his own hangar, grateful when Red’s jaws were already parted in anticipation. The cockpit felt natural, and _right_. It was one of the precious few places Keith felt he truly belonged. The last time he was here, however, had not been under good circumstances. But there was also…

He could still hear it clearly, even after all this time. Feel it, more like. When Keith was laying in the cockpit, content on ignoring the world outside, even when Pidge was rallying the others, he had not planned to move. But then, a clarion call resounded through him, soundless but clear, a thought but not his.

**Go.**

It was enough to prompt Keith tentatively out of his perch. That, and Red was all but ejecting him from the cockpit. Now, in hindsight, Keith is glad he listened to the voice (if he could call it that) since Pidge had actually made a groundbreaking discovery.

Being back at the cockpit now, after all that, something felt…different. But a good different; stronger, clearer. It was as if his connection to Red heightened tenfold.

There was a rumble underneath him; Red agreed.

The two launched themselves from the hangar, once more a free being loose in space. The Blue Lion was already out, waiting for him. A ping popped up on his dashboard, signaling a request from Lance for a private two-way communication. Red accepted it without any input from him.

“You just can’t let me be alone, can you?” he muttered sourly. A wave of amusement and pure cheek, mixed with a fierce protectiveness, washed over him. “I see how it is…”

“You see how what is?”

Keith blinked at the screen that showed Lance, now up and running. “Uh, nothing, just talking to Red.” Wow, that sounded a little weird to say aloud.

Lance accepted it with a nod, however. “So where to first? We need to make a giant circle either way,” the Blue Paladin asked.

Keith shrugged. “I dunno—pick a direction, I guess.”

The Blue Lion veered left, and he followed. A thought accosted him, unbidden, and Keith fought the urge to dither under it. Why the hell did Shiro think that _he_ would make a good leader? He couldn’t even pick a direction himself! Never mind the fact that assuming any type of leadership would just be accepting that Shiro was _gone_ —which he would _not_ do—but Keith wasn’t cut out for it! It terrified him!

Still, he felt like he was letting Shiro down, somehow—ignoring his wishes like this. The confliction was enough to make Keith squirm.

Lance must have noticed some uncomfortable expression on Keith’s face, because his voice was interrupting the stream of doubts that was encircling him at the moment. “Hey, don’t give me the long face dude—here, I’ll even let you drop the first doohickey.”

Keith couldn’t help but to snort. “What an honor,” he deadpanned.

Lance just grinned. “Atta’ boy!” he praised. Keith glared dryly at him, but Lance didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

He plucked a device out of the bag, pressed the button on the side until it blinked, and tossed it out the airlock-chute at the bottom of the console. The blinking circular beacon dropped into space, floating in stasis. One down; like, fifty to go.

They took turns activating them as they traveled along the planned perimeter. For the first few, it was blessedly silent as the paladins worked to get into the rhythm of things. The quiet was peaceful, allowing Keith reprieve from the stressed symphony of panic that had acted as the soundtrack for the Castle for the past twenty-four hours. However, Keith soon discovered that silence had its own monsters.

Like thoughts.

What if they failed? What if they were failing right now, busy on a fool’s errand? What if Keith should be fulfilling Shiro’s wish instead of futilely trying to save him? What if it was too late?

This, Keith realized, was why he preferred training in his downtime; the rush of adrenaline and clashing of swords precluded any unwanted worries and fears. Space did not.

Then Lance started talking. He wasn’t exactly sure when he started, only becoming aware of Lance’s stream of chatter rather abruptly. Who knows, it could have started that way. “Is this what it feels like to plant mines? I keep expecting something to blow up behind us, in some cool burst of fiery fury. They’re supposed to not blow up, right? I’ll be honest; I zoned out a little when Pidge explained this to me—she used too many big words, too fast, and I just wasn’t there for it. I mean, English was actually my best subject—I know, I know, ironic since it’s not my first language—and big words normally don’t scare me but those words were science words and they were not kind. I’m good with, like, literature and flying. If the terms associated with jet consoles were all book puns, I swear I would have been top of my class.”

“…I don’t think terms constituted that much of the curriculum, Lance.”

“That’s a moot point; I was a _fantastic_ flyer but that _cara de idiota_ that was my professor hated me because I kept referring to the buttons and levers as ‘thingies.’ He said it ‘undermined the sacredness of the profession’ or something.”

“I think it might also be because you flew the jet straight into a cliff in the flight simulation doing an unwarranted barrel roll.”

Lance pointed a triumphantly accusatory finger at Keith through the screen. “So you _do_ remember the classes we had together!”

Keith suddenly feels like he has walked into a trap of some sort, and he groans as he drops the next device. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t _remember_ you at the time; I never paid that much attention to my classmates and I was a _little preoccupied_ at the time with—” He breaks off the thought immediately. The memory brought unbidden emotions, ones he was no longer able to dwell on lest they become obsolete.

To Keith’s great relief, Lance changed the subject with ease. “Well, that’s what you get from being anti-social,” he decided. “And that barrel roll was _completely_ warranted—how else was I supposed to show that I was skilled enough to do tricks?”

“…it was a competency test, Lance—you were just supposed to just _finish_.” Sometimes, Keith seriously wondered how Lance had made it far in any education system; Keith barely made it through, and he _didn’t_ challenge everything he had to do. (Okay, maybe he did some, but that wasn’t the point.)

Lance made a waving motion with his hand, dismissing the logic in the statement. “You’re no fun, you know that? Seriously, with a rep and a get-up like yours, I expected you to be a _rebel_. The guy who punches his adversaries in the face when he feels like it!”

Keith didn’t respond, an unwanted hotness rising to his cheeks. That was _exactly_ what he had done…

…four times.

The first three times either got him kicked out of a foster home, a school system, or both. The last… Well. Keith didn’t want to think about that either. He had been…emotionally compromised, so to speak. Now, Keith was still very sure that that dense moron of a commander deserved it, but he realizes that in hindsight it may not have been the best idea to lose access to his best source of information regarding the Kerberos mission by breaking a high-ranking officer’s nose.

He heard a strangled chortle from the other line. “Oh my gosh, you _did_ , didn’t you?” Let it never be said that Lance wasn’t observant; Keith tried to will the color of emotion away from his features, but it proved to be a futile task on his pale face. “Who did you punch? Story time: Lance wanna’ know!”

No, no, he didn’t want to talk about this! It was embarrassing enough that he was unable to control himself, but the topic was too close… Keith was better off avoiding the subjects altogether, and try to maintain _some_ semblance of control rather than break down or do something equally humiliating. He clamped his mouth shut, and refused to answer Lance. In fact, Keith made sure to avoid eye contact, lest Lance realize what a pathetic mess he really was.

There was an angry tugging at the back of his mind, upset by his actions. Guilt settled like an inky mass in his gut. Shiro _would_ be disappointed by him, right now; the older man was always—upset? frustrated?—by Keith’s unwillingness to communicate. Great: now Keith was failing someone was _wasn’t even here._

The tugging returned, hotter than before, and more insistent. Keith felt himself shrivel inward, despite his best efforts not to. The tugging stopped, melting into something warmer and not unpleasant. A voice accompanied this time. No…not a voice; another feeling. Wait, there was a voice too—the two overlapped each other.

 **Keith.** “Keith _._ ”

He stopped, struggling to yank himself his weakness. Lance was staring at him from the screen, brows pressed together and blue eyes intent. Shit, it was his turn to activate the device, wasn’t it? “Sorry, I got it,” Keith mumbled, making a grab for the device.

“No, Keith, that’s not the problem,” Lance interjected. Dread mixed with the self-depreciating guilt; great: now Lance knew how screwed up he was.

“Keith, you know can tell me if there’s something wrong, right?” Lance pressed. “We’re bros—bros do that sort of thing.”

 _It’s all a lie_ , a little icy voice, present since as long as he could remember, reminded him. _They don’t care about you; why should they?_

 **Listen to Blue _,_** came the other voice, the warm and fiery one. **Trust him.** It was all so confusing, Keith could scream.

_Nobody wants you. They will all leave you._

“There’s nothing wrong,” he argued, through the tumult.

“—eith. That’s it—we’re parking this thing.” The Blue Lion dipped downwards, leaving him. It figured. But to Keith’s surprise, his lion followed the Blue Lion closely, all the way to the little green moon beside them.

He wasn’t even touching the controls. “What are you—? Red?!”

**Trust him, cub. Talk.**

The second, newer voice, was clearer now—it was the same one that lurched him to action the other day, eerily similar to the feeling that led him to the cave back on Earth in the first place. It was Red. Somehow, Red was talking to him, even though the voice was soundless.

And for some strange reason, she really wanted him to talk to Lance.

He felt like he was being ganged up on; he wasn’t sure how he felt about it either.

The Blue Lion landed on the surface of the moon. It was uninhabited, by the looks of it, but covered with a lush green moss. The atmosphere of its planet was strong enough to reach the moon, too, by the looks of it, though the moon was still early in its stages of life. Red landed next to her, a hatch on the roof of her cockpit sliding open; warily, Keith climbed out of it. Lance was sitting atop his lion, mounting on her patient head, and gestured for Keith to move next to him. He was wearing that same expression from earlier on the screen.

“You can cut that tough-guy crap, Keith,” Lance began. “I don’t buy it, so there’s no use to bother.”

This was an eerily familiar conversation; it normally ended with Keith moving on to a new foster home, or some form of discipline. The only thing different was Lance’s light tone and not-cold disposition. Still, Keith couldn’t help but to flinch inwardly.

Lance softened. “Look, I can’t know what it must feel like, but… Well, I kinda’ do.” He faced the stars. “Even though I know they’re still there, I lost my family when we left in Blue. It’s like a piece of me is missing, ripped away, and… It hurts. I don’t know exactly how it is for you, but it’s okay to miss him—to be upset. Hell, it’s okay to cry. It’s refreshing even. So, what I’m saying is, I know you’re upset, so if you need a shoulder to cry on, I’m here, dude—in a manly, platonic way, of course.”

Keith blinked at Lance, his words still registering. This was…different…than what his mind had expected. It was so foreign a conversation, that Keith wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Shiro’s brand of comfort, Keith knew; but this was different—unique: same brand, new flavor. It was the variation that Keith was still trying to handle.

“It’s just…” Gosh, he could barely push out the words around this cursed lump! Frustration welled in his being, and his fists clenched automatically in response. Why was this so hard? “It’s just…hard. I can’t…”

Lance didn’t need to hear his unspoken words, and moved forward instinctively. “Look, man: we’re not going to judge you just because you’re human.” He paused. “Er, part human. Human as in the adjective—you know what I mean! Nobody ever said that you gotta’ be some stone-faced soldier that can handle everything in stride. You can let all that junk out on your friends and family—that’s what they’re there for. So for quiznak’s sake, just let it out already!”

The incredulous snort that escaped his throat was involuntary, a product of the mesh of bitterness that came unbidden at the words. Family. Yeah, right. Like he totally had one of those lying around that wasn’t useless. Family was a foreign concept, only scarcely known through the man that _wasn’t here._ “Easy for you to say,” Keith retorted. “You _have_ a family. And friends.”

Lance punched him in the shoulder, _hard_. “So do you, you idiot!” he snapped back. “What do you think _we_ are, chopped liver?! _Por amor de Dios_ , Keith, _we’re_ your friends! Hell! We’re your _family_! Paladins stick together, right? That sure does sound like family to me.”

Keith froze. While Keith had trusted and cared for the other paladins, he had never once stopped to consider what they thought about him, or what their relationship entailed. Keith knew that ‘family’ didn’t need to be related by blood—he had been in the foster system too long to think that. However, he had never thought that he could ever be a part of a bond of that magnitude. It was absurd to imagine.

Red purred, filling his being with a warm and soothing rumble. **They care about you, cub. _We_ care about you. So let us.**

_Let us care about you. Don’t push us away. Not anymore._

The onslaught of affection that bombarded Keith, both from his lion and from Lance’s sympathetic smile, overwhelmed him; he was not accustomed to feeling this level of vulnerability, and frankly, it frightened him. Unbidden, hot tears sprang in his eyes, and Keith quickly pressed his palms into them to stop the flow. “You don’t have to do this.” His voice shook more than he wanted it to.

Lance looked like he was about to punch him again. “ _Eres un idiota_ , I _want_ to! Do you think it’s fun to watch you fall apart?” The Blue Paladin laughed bitterly. “We’re all messed up—we might as well be messed up together.”

Strangely enough, that logic stuck with Keith. Here they were, a bunch of misplaced and insignificant teenagers thrown into a war they were never a part of, with no one but each other. These past few months, or however long it’s been, they have learned to rely on one another, bolster each other, and simply _be there_ when they were needed. The Paladins of Voltron were a unit; they worked in tandem, or not at all. When all five of them were connected, there were no barriers—they simply _were_. They reacted to one another the way one’s own leg would work with the other; everything they did was not for themselves, but for the Whole.

For the first time, Keith was beginning to truly understand what a family was.

He smiled at Lance—a genuine, albeit small, smile. “Thanks.” The one word wasn’t quite enough to express what Keith was feeling, but it was the best he had.

Lance returned the smile.

The two paladins sat in companionship, their lions in support beneath them, as they regarded the stars around them. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he cried and he wasn’t alone.

And that was okay.

* * *

 _"'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone,_  
_Is where you go when you're alone,_  
_Is where you go to rest your bones._  
_It's not just where you lay your head,_  
_It's not just where you make your bed,_  
_As long as we're together, does it matter where we go?"_

\- Gabrielle Aplin, "Home"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Lance finally smacks the emo out of Keith. (Kinda.) 
> 
> But yay! Mental breakdowns! (My poor babies.) 
> 
> Rate and review, and all that jazz!


	4. Who We Are, and Who We Want to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Pidge are terrible at bonding. Shiro faces his inner demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Almost thought this one wasn't going to be up in time... But here you go! It's a thing. And the scene in the middle in Pidge's POV... that one is for KyraStrong.

_"This is your life, are you who you want to be?"_

\- Switchfoot, "This is Your Life"

* * *

 

For a moment, he feared he was back in the Void. It was dark and empty, but this place that Shiro was falling in was cold and thin too, invasively digging at his bones and tearing at his being.

When the grass shattered before him, slipping away into the same Abyss, Black was there. Shiro reached for her, but…

She was too far.

He was alone.

His screams were silent.

The Abyss continued on, growing colder and colder. Silence gave way to echoes—mournful, wailing echoes that penetrated his soul. Shiro slowed in descent as the lamenting cries grew louder. They spoke no words, only expressing pained desolation, as if the voices were not numerous enough to keep each other company.

“Black?” he called again. Shiro felt odd without the lioness by his side. Vulnerable. “Black!” Aside from the faint, desperate tug at his chest, there was no reply.

Shiro was floating now, sustained by the ghosting fingers of the bodiless, wailing voices. Unease filled his being, creeping through his skin along the violating bite of the cold.

 _“You are Lost.”_ The voice was another echo, but louder, clearer. It chilled him, even though the voice—distinctly feminine—is smooth and calm.

“Who are you?” Shiro called back. It wasn’t Black, which is who he wanted—but maybe this soul could help him find his way back to her.

An apparition appeared before him. She was slender and gaunt, though easily twice the size of him. She was a pale misty white, her wispy body only just solid enough to be visible against the blackness about them; milky strands of cloth and hair waved about her, as if she was perpetually underwater. The wraith was beautiful, reminding him of a siren, but her solid white eyes that bore into him were purely unsettling.

 _“I am No One,”_ she replied. _“But I am All.”_

Suddenly, Shiro misses Black’s semi-vague answers all the more—her responses are clear and direct in comparison to this. He studied the phantom woman with a mental huff. Black had warned him that the Inbetween was not always empty—that the sheer scope of its existence ensured that they would surely not be alone forever; Shiro just hadn’t given much thought to what—or who—they might encounter.

The wordless echoes continued. For the first time, Shiro thinks he could see them—formless wisps of white that writhe around the woman, their mouths stretched open in lament and their fingers reaching. The entire scene is enough to make unease crawl up Shiro’s spine.

Still, he tried again. “Where am I?”

Her lip twitched upward in amusement, even though her stare remained unchangingly frigid. _“You are Lost.”_

Oh, not this again. Shiro’s patience was seriously ebbing away now. Of course he was lost! Otherwise, he wouldn’t be asking where he was. “I just need to find my way back to…” Where? The grass? The real world? Black—he’d settle with Black. “…to my friend. We got separated.”

The woman simply stared at him, trying to peer into his soul. _“Your friend is not Lost. You are.”_

For the love of… “So, can you help me or not? Can you at least help me get back to the grassy plain?”

She chuckled. The melodious sound was like fingernails against his spine. _“I cannot help you mortal. You are Lost. It is up to you to be Found. And the Found are not Lost; only the Lost are here, in Nowhere. And nowhere else.”_

Shiro wanted to scream. Why was this so _difficult?_ First, he gets lost in the Inbetween, separated from the paladins and existence itself. _Then_ , he gets lost _in_ the Inbetween, separated from the familiar, like Black. He just wanted to go _home_. He didn’t ask for any of this—to nearly have his soul implode, to fall into the Abyss, to get captured by the Galra… But it happened to Shiro anyways, and there was nothing he could do about it; he was just some helpless and insignificant speck that the universe toyed with when it was bored and wanted to torment something. It wasn’t _fair._

He glared dryly at the cryptic ghost of a woman; since when was life _ever_ fair? Shiro had certainly learned that lesson. This stranger obviously wasn’t going to help him.

“Fine, I’ll just find my own way out,” Shiro grumbled. Even though he was pretty sure, if he could still trust his internal compass, that that way was ‘up’. And, for some reason, Shiro had lost his paladin armor—with its jetpack—when he ended up in the Inbetween, appearing instead in his only pair of casual clothes. (Shiro tried not to question it too much.)

 _“You cannot leave. You are Lost,”_ the woman spoke, causing Shiro to turn back towards her. He narrowed his eyes in resigned annoyance. So, _this_ was how it was going to be. Shiro can’t say that he is necessarily surprised.

“ _You_ said that only _I_ can find my way, so that’s what I’m going to do,” Shiro argued. He would try to talk his way out first, but he would fight a ghost if that’s what it meant to leave. Shiro had no desire to stay here, in this dark and lonely place.

 _“If you knew your way, you would not be Lost,”_ she replied. The answer chilled him.

His fingers twitched in anticipation. “Then _tell me_ how to get back!” Shiro ground out, a little desperately. He was beginning to feel trapped here, in this Abyss.

She kept staring at him. The gaze was cavalier, but mixed with pity too. Her fingers stretched towards him, grazing his cheeks like the deadly kiss of ice. _“Each has their own Way. You do not know yours, but you are the only one who can.”_ The phantom stretched her arms towards him, beckoning him.

Shiro took a step backwards. This wasn’t right. He didn’t want this. The phantom woman, cold and empty and without expectation, was but an empty hole from whence he would not return. He realized, suddenly, that she had never meant that he was unsure of his way back—she meant that he was perpetually Lost, without a way at all. That he had no direction, a leaf on the wind, drifting. She collected those, a Mistress of the Lost that gathered the Lost souls, the lamenting voices, and dragged them to the Abyss where they would surely never find their way again, because they could not.

He didn’t want that to be him. “No,” he whispered. “I don’t want—I _do_ know, I just can’t—”

The Mistress smiled, the patronizing pity flittering through her expression. _“Then who are you, mortal. Tell me, and you can leave.”_

“I’m Shiro,” he replied. She continued to watch him; a meaningless name wasn’t enough. What was he then? He wasn’t Takashi, he wasn’t Champion… He knew he wasn’t a mere pilot anymore, or a slave, or a monster. But…what did that make him? Shiro had considered those things a part of him for so long, until Black told him that he didn’t have to.

_…iro…_ **Shiro!**

Black! He could hear her again, calling him in the distance. Black, who saw him for more than what he thought he was, that faithful day when he stood before her at the Castle. She had deemed him worthy, and called forth his potential; under her, Shiro had become so much more than he thought he was capable of, even if he hadn’t realized it at the time. Certainty filled him; the answer was right in front of him all along.

_“The Black Lion is the decisive head of Voltron. It will take a pilot who is a born leader and in control at all times, someone whose men will follow without hesitation.”_

_“You’re like a brother to me.”_

_“We are the universe’s only hope; we can’t give up!”_

_‘He strategizes, and she is glad. He protects his cubs in battle, and she is proud.’_

_“It’s not about power; it’s about earning each other’s trust!”_

_“We are the last things standing in the way of Zarkon’s total universal domination; I’m not giving up that fight!”_

_‘ **You are mine.** ’_

“I am the Black Paladin,” Shiro declared. For the first time, he truly knows what that means.

The woman bowed her head, and the phantoms and the ghosts faded away in a blur of brightness. Black appeared beside him again, and Shiro felt warm.

—o0o—

The sensors worked. Lance and Keith had placed and activated them all, despite taking longer than was anticipated of the two fastest pilots of Voltron. (Neither offered any explanation, so they were inclined to drop the topic.)

Pidge was just glad that they were getting _somewhere_ now. She applied the final reading to her diagram with a satisfied nod, stepping back to take in the results.

She resisted the urge to frown at the sporadic nature of their readings; they had gotten _somewhere_ , but man, it could have been more useful than this. It was like staring at stars, their layout sporadic and patterns hard to derive.

“The last transmitter just returned,” Hunk announced, entering the room. His gaze was focused down on his datapad. “Anything good yet?”

“No,” she growled. “It looks like somebody just dropped sprinkles on the universe and called it a day. I mean—look at this!” Pidge gestured to the board angrily. “There’s readings freakin’ everywhere!”

Hunk’s eyes widened as he took in the data-map. “Those are a lot more anomalies than I was expecting…”

“Exactly! The flipping universe should be falling apart, according to this mess!”

The older male’s lips pulled to the side in annoyed bemusement. “Well, I don’t think it is, so maybe we’re missing something here.” Hunk shuffled through his readings, adding a few more dots to the map at the same time.

He grabbed a printed table of values. “Here, I’ll compare these numbers and see if I can determine what’s normal and what’s not. I’ll even ask Coran for the Castle’s average input as a control. You keep working at that and see if you can spot anything.” Hunk finished with an encouraging smile.

Pidge went ahead and waved him off, focusing back at the incredible aggravating map of data points. “Yeah, yeah, you do that…” The board had her full attention once again. She figured Hunk must’ve left soon after, because the next thing Pidge knew he wasn’t there. It was just her, alone in her hangar/workshop, with stubbornly evasive answers.

Each time she thought she noticed a cluster, there were five more areas of equal density that would depreciate the rarity of a cluster in the first place. Pidge’s eyes were beginning to cross on themselves, those stupid erratic dots burning into her eyelids.

“How’s the conspiracy board going?” a voice suddenly piped up. Pidge didn’t startle at it. Not at all.

“Geez, Lance, you can’t just interrupt people like that!” She glared at the offending teen, who merely shrugged with a laugh. He and Keith had walked in at some point, evidently curious as to her progress. The fact that everyone (herself included) was so eager for a lead only aggravated her more since she was getting _nowhere_ with it.

Pidge adjusted her glasses with a contemptuous snort. “And it’s _not_ a conspiracy board—it’s _data.”_

Lance shrugged again. “Potato, po-tah-to,” he deflected. Pidge suddenly had the urge to throw a wrench at him. Just to see what would happen to that smug face of his.

Luckily, Keith shoved him for her, pushing off of Lance’s shoulder as the shorter teen moved around the taller one to get closer to the board. (Lance squawked indignantly, but neither she nor Keith paid the overdramatic Latino any mind.)

“Have you found anything promising, yet?” Keith asked curiously.

Man, was she getting tired about people asking her that. “No!” she spat, waving her arm angrily at the thing. “It’s a mess!”

“Well, I’m sure that if anyone can solve it, it’s our two resident conspiracy theorists,” Lance announced with the clap of his hands as he made to leave.

Wait…

_“What?”_

Pidge’s and Keith’s dual exclamation had Lance turning back towards them, still moving, with a cheeky grin. “What? I mean, Pidge was tracking alien frequencies before she knew the Galra even existed, and Keith had that string-board thing—you can’t tell me that you _weren’t_ conspiracy theorists!”

“But what does that have to do with _this,_ you idiot?!” Pidge retorted. This was _science!_ Pidge wasn’t saying that she _hadn’t_ been the conspiracy-queen, but _this_ was _different._

“Looks similar enough,” Lance replied as he skirted through the door, away from the reach of flying projectiles.

“Uh…” Keith drawled, a hand at the back of his neck. “I can leave, if you want…”

Pidge sighed. “No, stay.” Truth be told, she was getting nowhere—another pair of eyes wouldn’t do any harm, as much as Pidge hated asking for help… And besides: Keith’s conspiracy board back at that shack _was_ beautiful.

Keith took a step back, taking in the board with a tilt to his head and crossed arms, brows furrowed in focus. “And these are the sources of…what exactly?”

Right, details… Though surely, she and Hunk had already explained this to them when they placed the markers. Eh, they probably weren’t paying attention. Figures. “The beacons you and Lance planted sent out a frequency which would detect any anomaly in the wavelength sent out, and then ping it back to us. Those—” She pointed to the dots. “—are the exact points where such an anomaly was detected. The anomalies being similar to the result of space-time warping, like when we use the teleduv.”

He nodded without taking his gaze off of the board. Keith, as hot-headed as he could be, was nothing if not eerily focused. Sometimes, Pidge doubted if he even blinked, considering the intensity of his stare.

“Here,” Keith said suddenly, pointing. “There’s more here.”

Pidge squints at the spot in question; it was the same useless cluster from before. “No, it means nothing—look: there’s dozens more just like it.”

“No, _look,”_ he presses. “You’re just seeing one spot, but if you look along this line…” He traces his finger along the board. “They make a path.”

She looked again. “Flying lemurs, _you’re right,”_ she breathed. Hastily, Pidge grabbed the stylus and marked the line, an irregular arch that split the cosmos. “It’s like a—a _fault line_ or something.”

“And where was the spot where…” Keith’s voice trailed off, but he cleared his throat and tried again. “Where Shiro disappeared?”

Pidge’s excitement waned at the mention of the tragedy that spurred the project to begin with. “Right… oh. Here.” She circled the offending location, which was decidedly _not_ on their newly discovered fault line.

Keith exhaled slowly through the nose. “I guess that’s a dud lead, huh?”

Pidge took a moment to stare at Keith incredulously; she knew that she was probably the worst hothead of the group when it came to these matters, but Keith was a close second. He was taking this…well. Too well. “Really? That’s it? A ‘ _dud lead’_? Are you shitting me right now? I think after hours of _nothing_ , this would be a little worse.”

He shrugged carefully. “We just have to keep trying.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Keith?”

Keith shot a dry glare in her direction. “Am I not allowed to be optimistic?” he deadpanned. There: that was more like Keith.

“I never said that—it’s just that you normally _aren’t,”_ Pidge amended.

He snorted. “Just trying something different.”

He looked away, back at the board; Pidge faced a new direction as well, fists clenching unconsciously. It wasn’t _fair_ —how could _Keith_ of all people not be afflicted by the boiling rage of helplessness. What was worse is that Pidge was so damn _used_ to it, this helplessness. It could be temporarily satiated, of course, but it _never went away_. No matter how hard she hoped, it couldn’t get them back— _any_ of them.

“Optimism doesn’t bring them home,” she whispered in a low growl. Keith turned back to her. Damn, she didn’t mean to say that aloud.

But instead of confusion or pity, she saw understanding in his eyes. “No, but it helps, I guess.”

There was a moment of silent comradery between them, each remembering times past when they experienced this very thing: loss. Mysterious, sudden, unexplainable, and uncertain, _loss_. Pidge had stewed on this alone, for so long. Sure, there was her mother, but her mother had been willing to accept that loss. Lance and Hunk missed their families, too, but they _knew_ where they were, safe at home.

But Keith? Keith had lost someone on the Kerberos mission too. And… shit. He lost Shiro _again_. Pidge could only imagine what it would feel like to get her family back, only to turn around and lose them. She didn’t think she would make it if that happened. It was truly a wonder Keith was functioning at all.

“Does it?” Her voice came out smaller than she intended, a hint of cynicism that she didn’t want superimposed. Suddenly, Pidge felt so much younger than she was—maybe like her real age, and not how she normally felt—as she sought some sort of help from the older male.

Keith fidgeted with his gloves, only sneaking glances at her. “I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “But it can’t hurt. When…When it first happened, I refused to believe that he was gone. That stubbornness was misplaced—I had no clue, really—but somehow it happened. Now? Knowing more…It doesn’t always help. Back then, I never imagined he would be tortured by aliens. But…but I also know that Shiro is strong. Hell, we all are—we beat fucking _Zarkon._ If anyone can survive…it’s him. And…and we just have to have faith in that.” Determination filled his gaze. “But we’ll find him. One way or the other, we’ll find him…”

Pidge worried her lip. It wasn’t the ‘everything-will-be-okay’ lie that she had selfishly wanted; it was the truth. And that truth made sense, as ambivalent as it was. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing them forever, but it was true that she had so little control over that… It was hard. And frustrating.

“Someone,” Keith continued, facing her this time with a small smile on his lips. “…once told me that it doesn’t hurt as bad if you have people to share the pain with. I’ve heard that grieving alone really sucks.”

She couldn’t help it: she snorted a laugh. “No kidding,” she mumbled, angrily wiping that stupid little tear that threatened to spill. “And who told you that? A fortune cookie?”

His lip twitched in amusement. “Lance—same thing, really.”

Lance. She should’ve known. If anyone could get through Keith’s thick skull, it was either Lance or, well, _Shiro._ Pidge laughed at the thought: that was probably why those two took so long—Lance must’ve yelled at Keith until he stopped sulking. As understandable as the set-up was, Pidge wasn’t giving up this beautiful opportunity to use this as blackmail.

“You must be going soft, if _Lance_ can get through to you,” she teased. Keith glared dryly.

“You have never been ganged up on by an angry Latino and an over-protective lion, have you?”

Shit, _Red_ yelled at him? Was that even possible? Pidge couldn’t help it: she laughed, a short cackle escaping her lips. “No, and I don’t think I ever want to!”

“Ha, ha,” Keith deadpanned. “Just you wait.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Pidge mulling over his words. He was right. (Or, well, _Lance_ was right.) Talking about it, even vaguely, helped. It made her realize that this wasn’t entirely on her—she wasn’t alone. Not only was everyone just as intent on getting Shiro back as she was, but they supported her too. The pressure that had plagued her lifted, if only just a little.

“Thank you,” she said, breaking the silence. Pidge reciprocated Keith’s small smile. “This does help.”

“It does,” he agreed.

Wow, this entire conversation was really awkward. But that was what the universe gets for making the two most socially inept paladins comfort-buddies.

Eventually, they turned back to the reason they were there: the board. What seemed to be a few hours of arguing, staring, and screaming later, their _productive_ session was interrupted by Slav.

She felt annoyed as soon as he entered the room. Nothing against the genius, or anything, but why was he still here? Wasn’t there _anywhere_ else he wanted to go after helping them with the giant teleduv?

“What is it, Slav?” Pidge droned.

The Teslaen scuttled up to the board. “So, _this_ is the map?” he mused, studying it whilst ignoring them. “I was wondering… Hmm. Those are some _very_ low probabilities.”

Pidge felt her eye twitch; she did _not_ need Slav telling her about their ‘low probabilities.’ “It’s a work in progress,” she growled.

Slav hummed to himself. “There is an 8.237% chance a human would have survived an encounter with any one of these—4.002% for any instance with an 80 giganurt power concentration or higher—in roughly forty-seven realities. In fifteen more, there is an overall 2.2005% chance of survival.”

“Slav…” Keith warned lowly, fingers twitching. Not many could deal with Slav for long periods of time—or any period, really—except for maybe Hunk and Coran. His very presence was beginning to irk Pidge, and Keith too if she had to guess. After all, nobody likes a psycho-genius running around shifting stupid things and screaming about incredibly depressing probabilities. As a scientist and a paladin, it was Pidge’s mission to screw probability and try anyways.

“If he was in the Black Lion, there would be a 45.709% percent chance in twenty-two realities of survival, but the fleshy nature of organic substances doesn’t do well in raw wormholes,” Slav continued, oblivious. “However…” He fussed with the board some more, even drawing weird scribbles on it. He was lucky she could remove those, because Pidge swore if that meddling Teslaen messed up her map, it wouldn’t bode well. For him.

“There’s no guarantee that Shiro fell through any of those,” Pidge stressed. “We’re just collecting data about how Shiro might’ve disappeared.” Anything to get talks-a-lot to leave their project alone.

“There’s no guarantee of anything!” Slav agreed happily. A few of his hands pressed against his chest in a Slav-show of I’m-smarter-than-you. “You know, cosmic disturbances and inter-space dynamics are my specialty! I will be of great assistance to you. Here: probability of our success in fifty-two realities will increase by 0.4 percent if I just…” Slav immediately busied himself with tilting the board in odd angles and moving objects in the room to random places.

Pidge felt her eye twitch. While that was true, Pidge didn’t think any of them would survive a prolonged encounter with the eccentric scientist. Especially not when he was rearranging her workshop! “That’s really not necessary…” she growled.

Slav remained oblivious to her desire to throw him out of an airlock. “Oh, no worries! It is no trouble at all! In fact, my involvement would mean a 43.25% increase of finding Shiro is sixty-three realities!”

Keith shared a grimace with her, his arms crossed and stance tense. Both paladins knew that as grateful as the others would be, nobody would necessarily approve of tossing the scientist into space. Pidge guessed that she would just have to try the civil way, then.

“Slav,” she began tightly. “We really appreciate the help, but we need to focus, and that means _quiet_.”

“Pfft,” Slav deflected. “If anyone is silent, that means a 78.3% chance of failure in nineteen realities! Now according to my calculation…” Slav busied himself over the readings while Keith made a slight tossing motion with his hands. She shook her head at his offer, tempting as it was.

The Teslaen froze. “Oh dear.” Great. “It seems that there is only a 2.3008% chance Shiro still exists in this reality…”

No. No, no, no, Pidge wasn’t hearing this! “A chance is still a chance, Slav; we have to keep trying!”

Slav shook his head and waved his hands frantically. He looked vaguely…excited…at this prospect, and Pidge couldn’t comprehend why. Did he not hear the negative forecast spilling from his beak? Maybe she should take Keith up on his offer after all.

“ _No!_ You don’t _understand!”_ Slav pressed, eyes still wildly excited. “This means that there is a 97.7992% chance that he is in _another_ reality!”

“Wait…what?”

Slav gestured to the map with four of his hands. “They reason the cosmic disturbances can lead to space pockets and other locations is that they travel _through_ space—through other dimensions and realities!”

Huh. That…actually kind of made sense, in a weird Slav way.

“That’s…wow.” Keith stared at Slav rather dumbly; Pidge hated to think that she probably looked the same way.

She stared back at the readings, taking them in in a new, menacingly difficult, light. If what Slav was saying was true, then they had a _whole_ new set of data to look through and stack of problems to go with it. But…but it also meant that Shiro was still out there.

Somewhere.

But now they knew what they were looking for—and that was at least something.

—o0o—

The scenery changed this time. Fields turned to forests and forests turned to mountains. Every so often, the environment would ripple and fade into something else.

Shiro and Black kept walking. Neither talked much after Shiro’s encounter with the Mistress, each exhausted, and simply settled on keeping close. Shiro didn’t mind—he enjoyed the quiet companionship, actually. He took to looking around, relishing the serene repose and not dwelling on darker things.

The world was still painted like a violet galaxy, with everything a dark shade and stars speckled across his view. As much as the dim color reminded him of the Galra, it reminded him of Black, too, and the vast beauty of space. It was bittersweet, in a way.

Currently, the rocky and bare slopes they had steadily traversed were flattening, giving way to an empty expanse, devoid of even the swaying grass.

Something loomed in the distance.

“Black?” he spoke tentatively, breaking the silence. A massive and solid wall, stretching endlessly in all directions, blocked their path. It set Shiro on edge. “What’s that…?”

The Black Lion paused. **A wall.**

Shiro glared dryly at the lioness. “And what’s it doing here?”

 **And how am I supposed to know?** That was a shrug if he ever heard one.

He sighed. “You know what I mean,” Shiro amended. “How do we get past it?”

They both stared at it for a moment. There was no end of it in sight—not even above it. A dense cloud covered the top before it ended.

 **Here,** Black spoke, spreading her wings. **Hop on.**

Shiro had flown inside the Black Lion long before he ever heard her voice. But riding her bareback in a feline form? That was…different. But not strange; it was still flying. Black took off with a powerful flap of the wings, and the two jolted skywards towards the cloud. This time, Shiro was the one along for the ride. Yet still, there was a synchronism that existed between him and Black whilst in the air that was unlike anything else. When she moved, he could feel it—except it. If he thought in a direction, she followed. It got to the point, as they maneuvered the misty sky, that neither Shiro nor Black was solely in control of their movements; they were one entity, flying.

Too bad it produced nothing: the wall never ceased. No matter how high they flew, in whatever direction, it never disappeared.

Shiro looked back from where they came. The mountains had disappeared, the world just as flat and desolate as they ground beneath them. Instinctively, Shiro knew that they had to cross this wall. “Maybe we missed something at the bottom,” he mused. “Surely, there’s a way past this.”

Black hummed in consent, drifting downwards. When they hit the ground again, Shiro jumped off of the lioness’ back and approached the wall. It was smooth and featureless, a dull gray that interrupted the cool landscape. It was cold to the touch, and nothing seemed to change… Wait.

The wall shivered beneath his hands. Startled, Shiro moved backwards as the wall shook. The surface in front of him split, a dark and colorless opening splitting before him. The tunnel was only just as tall as Black, and as wide as his arms. It was foreboding, like an empty mouth stretched wide, ready to swallow them.

But it was the only way through the wall that they had. And as Shiro approached it, he felt a gentle current pull him through.

 **Go,** Black agreed. **I am right behind you.**

Shiro nodded. Here goes nothing.

The tunnel was as dark on the inside as it was from the outside. Black kept pace behind him, there being not enough room for the two to walk side by side. However, she kept her breath on his back and her nose at his side, while Shiro made sure to brush his fingers against her fur in return. After last time, neither wanted to be separated again.

A dim light appeared at the end; Shiro and Black journeyed towards it, the light never growing any closer for what seemed like hours. Eventually, it grew, and the darkness slowly succumbed to it.

A figure appeared, a silhouette to the brightness. “Hello?” Shiro called out cautiously. He hadn’t forgotten the last person he met here… So far, his track record for beings-other-than-Black he met in the Inbetween hasn’t been fun.

It remained formless, but spoke with a calm voice. “Welcome traveler,” they replied. “Turn back, or continue through the door.”

Door? What door? Suddenly, Shiro is reminded of Keith’s trial with the Blade of Marmora. This could end so badly…

“What is this place?” Shiro asks instead. He still couldn’t see past the brightness, which now cause him to squint in order to catch a glimpse of the silhouette.

“This is the Gate. In order to continue, you must prove yourself capable. Turn back, or go through the door.”

Shiro was getting really sick of all of these vague replies. “And how do I do that?” he droned, feeling quite annoyed.

“Prove yourself stronger than your fears.”

The world darkened again. Shiro could feel the space widen, a chill sweeping the newly created expanse. The lights dimmed to a violet glow, but not the warm one from outside. The walls curved, filled with formless, screaming shapes, and cold pillars rose around him.

No. No, no, _no._ Shiro’s heart leapt into his throat, and he backed into Black. She was still there, thank God, growling softly.

An arena formed around them.

On the other side was a small, innocuous door.

Shiro really hated his life right now. Of all the things this cursed realm just _had_ to throw at him… It _had_ to be _this_.

The amorphous crowd, compromised of nothing more than wispy shadows, screamed for him. _Champion, Champion, finish it!_ they cried. Too many times had he heard those words; no matter which language it was, Shiro knew them. Remembered them. Had listened to them. His fingers curved into Black’s fur, grounding him.

“If it isn’t the traitor,” a voice spoke. A figured appeared in front of him, in the middle of the arena and halfway in between Shiro and the door.

Shiro’s right fist clenched. “I am _not_ a traitor,” he declared. He couldn’t believe that, not anymore.

The shadow solidified, and Shiro’s blood ran cold. A man in purple and black, pallid skin scarred, with yellow eyes and a wicked smirk stood before him. Shiro knew the Shade well—knew him from his nightmares.

And the mirror.

“You betrayed _us_ ,” the look-a-like hissed, eyes like the Galra’s narrowed, intruding upon _his_ face. The Shade snarled at him, prosthetic alighting in a dangerous purple. “You abandoned us! Me! We made you into something stronger! _Better! I_ was something _better!”_

Shiro’s own arm lit up. He wouldn’t stand for this. He wouldn’t fear this thing any longer. Black beside him gave him energy, confidence. Shiro wasn’t Champion anymore, but he didn’t earn that title for nothing. “Like _hell_ , you are!”

He lunged, and the Shade lunged too. Their arms clashed, and Shiro felt it reverberate through his spine, shaking his teeth and his bones. The energy produced by the Galra weapon bounced against itself, behaving much like it did during Shiro’s fight with Sendak.

“You can’t escape, Champion,” the Shade sneered. “I’m always close—a part of you.* The monster inside of you!” It cackled. “The reason you can’t escape your own nightmares!”

“Stop it!” Shiro growled, reaching for the demon’s throat like a feline snapping at its prey. His burning hand grazed the flesh of the apparition, drawing blistering red from its shoulder. The Shade jerked its knee into Shiro’s side; he gasped, winded by the blow, but Shiro pressed forward anyways. Injury was not foreign to the ex-slave: he had experienced and inflicted far too much for a single lifetime. Anything more no longer had any effect; whether that was a good thing or a bad thing was yet to be determined.

The Shade twisted to the side, dragging Shiro down with him. When the floor tilted its way into the crowded stands and the stony ceiling, Shiro saw what was happening around him. Shadows surrounded them, each bearing the yellow eyes of Haggar. Black was bombarded by them, but the lioness slashed at them with a fury.

The heat of the Shade’s weaponized hand brought him back to his own fight. Memories of burning flesh and scorched metal filled his nostrils. They brought him back to a simple and dark time of survival, which wasn’t any different from now—except for motive. With a shout, Shiro twisted as well, using his full momentum to thrust the two across the arena, until Shiro was on top again, knee to the Shade’s throat. Did a phantom need to breathe? He supposed he was about to find out.

The Shade snarled, slashing at Shiro’s leg. The hot metal fingers cut along his thigh, breaking open the skin in a blistered mess. Pain flared in Shiro’s veins, and the Shade took the opportunity to grab the offending ankle and yank Shiro into the dirt. A small, sick part of Shiro felt that this fight—the Galra prosthetic being used against him—was justified. But, Shiro couldn’t go down like this—not when people counted on him.

He rolled back to his feet, letting the fiery protests of his leg drown in the roar of his adrenaline. Pain was just a feeling. Life was different.

The Shade pulled itself to its feet, sneering at Shiro. If it thought he would be hindered by the blow, then it was sorely mistaken. For all of its prattling, it should know that Shiro was not easily deterred. Or gullible. He saw the Shade leap for him, and dodged to the side, lunging at it in return. However, the Shade was no longer alone. Cold and slender hands reached out of the shadows, clawing at him, grabbing at him.

The scent of copper and not-quite-sterile cold metal overwhelmed Shiro, and he gasped, panic setting into his heartbeat. The apparitions of Haggar tried to drag him into their depths, full of screams and memories of terror, and no matter how he slashed at them they would not desist.

_“You could have been our greatest weapon!”_

Shiro ducked underneath the arms, digging his heels into the ground, trying to propel himself out of the hoard, away from the one who nearly succeeded in unmaking him.

_“You’ve been broken.”_

The druid grabbed his ankle, pulling him back. Shiro kicked it off, but five more replaced it, and even more took him by the arms. They were everywhere, ready to consume him—

_“You intrigue me, Champion. Your bloodlust exceeds you.”_

He growled, a low feral sound. She made him into this beast, but he would not be tamed. His arm, the one _they_ gave him, obeyed Shiro and turned on its creators. The druids immediately in its way dissipated, but they reappeared like times better forgotten.

 _“You are_ mine _, Champion._ I _made you. Never forget that!”_

“No!” Shiro pushed his way into the hoard, his blazing arm his shield and battering ram. At the same time, a mighty roar split the arena, and the druids faltered, shimmering as if they were a disturbed reflection in a pool. He knew who he belonged to, and it sure as hell wasn’t them.

The Shade met him on the other side. The door was still behind him. Shiro narrowed his eyes, goal in his sights; the Galra were right about one thing—it was do or die. But it was the matter of who he was fighting _for_ that made the difference.

“I am _not_ you!” Shiro exclaimed. “You’re wrong. And I will not give you the satisfaction of getting in my way any longer.”

It only chuckled. “My poor, misguided human, do you think you know better than I do?”*

Black circled around the Shade’s back, head dipping in a stalk. She cut through the shadows, burning them with a golden glow. Shiro’s fingers twitched in anticipation, and he dropped into a lower stance as he tracked the movements of the Shade.

The Shade continued to sneer at Shiro with its exposed fangs. “You will never be more than a gladiator, fighting the demon inside you! Prey to the beasts you face!”

Shiro readied his arm, locking his prosthetic at the elbow and rearing it back like a viper. Black bent her hind legs, lips pulled back in a fiercer snarl than the Shade could ever manage, as she stalked the demon alongside him. “That’s where you’re wrong, again,” Shiro corrected, a slight and triumphant grin pulling at his lips. “Unlike a gladiator, the lion is on _my_ side.”

Black lunged, fierce with the fury of a mother scorned, and dove at the Shade. It yelped in surprise, drawing back its weapon to combat the lioness. But it was too late. The Black Lion batted the Shade into the ground, tearing its metal limb out as she slung it in his direction. Shiro flew forwards, his right hand cutting straight through its chest—through its empty heart.

The crowd continued to scream, but Shiro ignored them. They no longer mattered; they never did. As the Shade dissolved, melting off of his arm, Shiro erected himself, only to discover that his leg was no longer in the mood to bear his full weight. The wound still hurt, blood trickling down his leg. It was not as real as it would have been in the Real world, but it was real enough. Wordlessly, Black slid herself under him, taking his weight as they exited the door and into the brightness on the other side.

* * *

 

_"I know who I am now_   
_And all that you've made of me;_   
_I know who you are now_   
_And I name you my enemy._   
  
_I know who I am now_   
_I know who I want to be;_   
_I want to be more than this devil inside of me."_

\- The Oh Hellos, "Dear Wormwood"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The two bits of dialogue with the astric (*) right next to them are both nearly direct references/quotes from something else... Digital cookies and a shoutout to whoever guesses where it's from! (Both are from the same source.)
> 
> Well. That was a fun chapter for Shiro, wasn't it? Heheh... Keith and Pidge's scene was so awkward though! It's like: how do the two most anti-social paladins have a heart to heart? Not very well... But they're getting there. Fun fact: I had originally wrote the 'conspiracy board' scene between Lance and Keith in Chapter 3, but instead move the board to chapter 4 and gave them a space excursion. In case you cared.


	5. On Our Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another step taken, another step closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look. It's Saturday. Not Friday... Heheheh.... Sorry guys! Finals have me hurting. This chapter is really short, but I promise, the next chapter will be WAY longer.

_"'Cause I'm on my way now-_

_well and truly_

_I'm on my way now."_

 

\- Phil Collins, "On My Way"

* * *

Coran stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “Now…say that one more time, Number 5. And maybe slower this time, hmm?”

The Green Paladin, who fidgeted with her characteristic impatience, sighed loudly. She, Keith, and Slav had talked all at once with the excitement of a herd of jibberloks that even _he_ could scarcely follow them. And poor Hunk, Lance, and Princess Allura had just appeared plain dizzy.

“Shiro is in another reality. Most likely,” she repeated, bluntly.

Another reality? Space-travel Coran was very much familiar with, and he wouldn’t deny that such a thing as the space-time continuum most likely existed, but whenever one talked of controlling that spectrum, Coran could never be sure of the validity of such notions. He was an old man, though loathe to admit it, and once a member of a powerful and advanced empire; if you had asked Coran this years ago, when everything was fine, he would immediately disagree that such a thing was even possible.

But Coran had been learning to believe in the impossible these past spicolian movements.

Lance raised a brow. “You mean, like, an alternate dimension?” He gasped, rather dramatically. “Like in the comics where they end up in some parallel world where the good guys are bad guys and the bad guys are good guys? Because that’d be dope. And terrifying. And freaky.”

Coran wasn’t entirely sure what Lance meant by that hullabaloo, with topsy-turvy versions of the same people, but Pidge glared at Lance dryly, which probably meant he wasn’t serious.

“How curious,” Coran mused. “Another reality… There are plenty of myths, of course, but nothing concrete about their nature, other than the fact that they probably exist.” Whether or not another ‘reality’ was accessible was an entirely different matter.

“I don’t know…” Hunk spoke, “That seems rather sci-fi to me.”

“Well we fly in giant robotic lions and merge consciences to form a giant robot with said lions on a bi-weekly basis, so…” Keith droned.

Hunk rolled his eyes with a sigh. “When you put it that way…”

“Guys, _focus_ ,” Pidge snapped, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “He’s out there and we need to _get_ him. We have some theories…”

The Teslaen cleared his throat loudly. “ _I_ had some ideas,” Slav corrected smugly. Coran resisted to urge to chuckle at the scientist; Teslaens never changed… They would be one of the few. “If we aim a concentrated particle beam through the scultrite lenses at the _precise_ angle and intensity, we can open a space pocket. And then we open _another_ space pocket _in_ the space pocket!”

Now, Coran was not an expert in quantum space physics, but that sounded dangerous. And amazing. But mostly ridiculous. “Sounds like as good a plan as any!” he conceded.

“We don’t need any more scultrite, do we?” Hunk asked nervously, fidgeting with his fingers. “Because while going into the weblum was _fun_ and all…”

“Nonsense Number 2! You had the best instructions the galaxy could offer!” Coran clapped Hunk on the back enthusiastically. Oh, the file probably _was_ corrupted, but he had every faith that if anyone was crazy enough and/or talented enough to survive those monsters, it was the paladins. “Those weblums should be quivering in their boots!”

Hunk blanched. “Does that mean we need more…?”

“Of course not! You and Keith brought back plenty,” he responded, much amused by the Yellow’s paladin’s lack of vigor for having to crawl back inside a giant stomach. (Coran didn’t blame him, but where was Hunk’s sense of _adventure?_ )

“So, are we just going to rip a random hole in space and hope Shiro is on the other side?” Keith asked, skepticism creeping into his voice. “How do we even know that there _is_ another side?”

“Oh, we don’t,” Slav chirped, unconcerned. “But there is a 57.5% chance that it will work in one way or another.”

Lance deflated. “We’re just livin’ on a prayer, got it.”

“Now, I wouldn’t say that Number 3,” Coran interjected, sensing the dampening mood even though the earthen phrase was lost on him. It was _his_ job to keep spirits up, after all. “There _was_ a legend…” A very old legend, older than these cursed ten thousand years they missed and older than even _his_ family history. Coran himself never paid much mind to it; while he never doubted it was possible, he always figured it another of his grandfather’s tall tales.

Heh. If only his grandfather could see them now…

“A legend?” Pidge repeated cautiously, if not incredulously. For a group that kept talking about the folktales of their people and ‘comics,’ they didn’t seem overly enthused by legends. Humans were an odd bunch.

“Yes,” Coran continued, undeterred. “Tales of _mysterious_ disappearances would always travel the cosmos—” Coran wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “—but there was a group that came _back_. Merchants would tell you that they bore items never seen before, and bystanders would witness unknown species in their ranks. They were called simply the Travelers, coming and going from existence as we knew it without so much as a warning. They had no ships, no beasts, no anything. Nothing but a gem, some would say. Or a magic map. But no one ever witnessed them go…”

Lance rubbed his chin. “So, you mean there might be some magic rock out there that can travel to different dimensions?”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, if there _was,_ it would certainly be useful,” Coran agreed.

Wait. Coran remembered that there _was_ a specific planet, what was it called… Flym? Plym! If there was _any_ validity to any of the legend, answers would certainly be held there. And again, if this ordeal ever since waking from cryosleep taught Coran anything, it was to have a little faith.

“If there _is_ any place where we might find answers, or where it would be best to try to break space-time, it would be the planet Plym: it was the center of these myths,” Coran suggested. A thoughtful silence followed, as the younger occupants of the room struggled to place their salvation on something unknown.

“It’s worth a shot,” Keith said finally with a shrug. “We don’t have much else.”

“Agreed,” Allura nodded.

The other three paladins dipped their heads too, willing to follow their fellow in the matter.

Coran smiled inwardly at the resolve of the paladins, and of Allura. If anyone could do the impossible, it was them. “Let’s set a course to Plym, then!”

—o0o—

As it would turn out, the endless fields and forests and mountains and pits that Shiro and Black had traversed had only been the _outskirts_ of the Inbetween. On the other side of the wall had lie the heartland.

And it was _crowded._

Another flock of large aviaries with flowing pink tails and inky black talons soared overheard, their toucan-sized beaks flapping with the croaking screech they were so fond of. Ships flew in and out with sudden severity, flitting through the Inbetween unwittingly in the midst of their hyperdrives. He had even witnessed a blue box flying through on occasion. (One had to be careful because of the vehicles; it was wholly possible to be caught off guard and rammed by an aircraft at hyper-speed.) Other creatures, some more humanoid than others, lulled about aimlessly, appearing and going at their leisure across the pastel hills, valleys, and streams that floated about.

Yes, _floated._ Chunks of land and water meandered through the air, oblivious to any sensation of gravity. Occasionally, cloudy bridges would connect these aimless masses, but other times it was just part of the routine to jump it. Luckily, the Inbetween’s schizophrenic gravity was applicable to all of its residents.

A yellow-ish ape-like creature, with abnormally long front legs and small red eyes, cross their path with a growl. Shiro sighed. Great. Another one.

 _“Cat!”_ it hissed at them, lunging with ragged claws. Shiro parried the blow with his arm, grabbing the scruff of its chest and tossing it to the side. Burned, it shrieked in anger and tried again. Black deftly grabbed at its throat and tossed it to the void without second thought. That was the eleventh one they had encountered; apparently, the species _really_ hated cats.

 **Surely, I don’t _smell_ like a cat, **Black grumbled.

“Sure you don’t,” Shiro replied, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

Black’s tail thrashed irritably, ‘accidentally’ knocking into Shiro’s back. **_Its_ smell is far more unpleasant.**

“See, the fact that you _can_ smell those things on an intimate level only proves that you _are_ a cat.”

**I am a being comprised of ancient quintessence that chooses to take the form of a lion. There is a difference.**

“Not really.”

**…When I had first met you, I had not realized that you could be this insufferable.**

“All humans can be, Black; it’s our _thing.”_

She purred in irritated amusement, roughly licking his face. **And cheeky, too.**

Shiro wiped the side of his face with his sleeve. “Says the pot to the kettle…”

They continued on in a mixture of amicable silence and small bouts of commentary. Most of the creatures that wandered about them left them alone, save the few that were easily irritated by their presence and were a little too close for comfort. Oddly enough, their presence in the strange realm was not overly surprising to the local creatures. They, however, had yet to cease to surprise Shiro.

A brightly colored koi fish the size of a whale lumbered past him, swimming through the air. A herd of small lizard-like scavengers scurried about him nearby; some even sniffed at he and Black curiously, but never deemed them interesting enough to stick around. Some great big spiny cloud that could only be described as a dragon soared overheard; he couldn’t bet anything on it, but Shiro swore he saw something humanoid aback the reptilian legend wave at him.

It was like walking inside of a dream, the world a mere product of the subconscious imagination that was pleasant and whimsical but not altogether _safe_. If it weren’t for the certainty and resolution in his gut (and the pain in his leg) Shiro might’ve doubted that he had ever woken up that morning. Or if he’ll ever wake up again.

“Human,” came a voice, smothered in some form of disdain. A bipedal bear with the eyes and wings of an owl on its back appeared in his path. Shiro tensed reflexively, Black doing similar at his side. But the creature made no move closer to him. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m sorry, come again?” He wouldn’t freaking _be_ here if he knew how to get _out._

It—a he, if the deepness of its warbling voice was anything to go by—gestured to them with a wing. “Most things of the Real World do not stay here longer than a moment. I have seen you here for a least a few moments. Why haven’t you left?”

Shiro got the distinct feeling that the bear-owl felt intruded upon, but was too polite to outright say it. He realized then that this was the first conversation he had held with anything on this side of the wall. Most of the creatures just roared and shrieked or yelled _‘Cat!’_ at him thus far. Shiro figures he might as well talk to the one that that talked to him first. “I got a little lost,” he admitted vaguely. Call it caution or paranoia or pride, but he wasn’t telling this hairy bird _everything._ “Do you know the way back to the ‘Real World’?”

The bear-owl scoffed. “Silly human, there are countless worlds in the Real World—you must be more specific.”

“Then how do you know I am a human?”

If its large eyes could roll, Shiro was pretty sure that they would. “An educated guess—there are many Humans and many Earths. Which do you come from?”

That…what? Many Earths? Shiro was starting to believe that this conversation would go nowhere, but he was inclined to give it one more go. “I actually need to get back to space, where the Castle of Lions is. Or Arus maybe—do you know where those are?”

“Names such as those mean nothing to us here,” he replied rather contemptuously. “But if you want to find it, I’m sure you will. Good day.” With that, he flew off.

 **And you think _I_ am vague, **Black snorted.

Shiro just sighed. “He probably doesn’t know.”

She hummed skeptically, but otherwise didn’t say anything more about the bear-owl, instead directing their focus to the matter at hand. **We are too far in the center—we must find the barrier to the Real World so we may return.**

“Easier said than done…” Shiro was aware of the fact that Black already knew this, if her exasperation was anything to go by.

**We should fly for a while.**

As much as Shiro would love to, they had already spent too much time together—Shiro was picking up on Black’s language and mannerisms at an alarming rate, a testament to their abnormal yet intimate bond. “The leg feels fine.”

She narrowed her golden eyes at him. **It won’t be if you do not mind it. Now get on, cub.**

Shiro was also well aware of when he would inevitably lose arguments with the ‘decisive head of Voltron’; now was such a time. Climbing atop the Black Lion, Shiro rolled his eyes fondly. The wound was superficial at most, and nearly healed. Even though injury in this plane meant injury or death to his Real person, he could take much more of a beating here than out there. But to overprotective mother-hen lions, that was another story.

But flying was far more effective than walking, not to mention more enjoyable. (With less cat-hating gorillas.) Though there was the incident with the spinning blue box… No, no, they weren’t going to speak of that. Ever.

Shiro spotted something small and brown in the distance, stationed in the middle of the labyrinthine landscape like a beacon. “What’s that over there?” Shiro pointed. Black veered in that direction. They swooped down beside the object, which was situated on a small and singular island in the midst of everything.

He blinked in surprise. It was a…road sign?

Two wooden arrows pointed in opposite directions, reading simply ‘In’ and ‘Out.’ Upon closer inspection, a postscript was added to the ‘In’ board, which said ‘Mabel’s’—whatever that meant.

“I’m guessing we’re going ‘Out’ if that means ‘out of the Inbetween’,” Shiro said. The landscape in that direction was just as twisted as that behind them, but it was sparser.

**Lead the way.**

Shiro still didn’t know where he was going, but they ambled through interspaced world nonetheless. The land masses grew less solid, as if they were reflections in a pool. They flew over one mass, in particular, that flashed in and out, as if it existed equally in the Inbetween and the Real World. The island itself was large and vast, with glimmering seas and floating mountains with pools of lava in between.

**“WHO DARES PASS?!”**

The voice itself nearly shook the two out of the air, rattling the skies with its decibels. But it was the towering body of water that rocketed in front of them, blocking their path.

“Whoa!” He and Black swerved backwards, spiraling lower to the ground.

The being bent lower to position its face closer to them. He looked to be a man made of water, springing forth from the river below them. **“NONE SHALL PASS OVER THE MIGHTY RIVER!!! HAVE YE NOT READ-ETH THE SIGN!!?”**

Shiro winced at the sheer volume of the angry water being, Black pressing her ears back with a hiss as well. The water man had no sense of volume control. (Or correct old English, but maybe that was a translation error.)

“We’re just trying to get to the other side,” Shiro placated. “We have no desire to go near your river.”

**“BUT YOU HAVE NOT OBEYED THE SIGN. THE SIGN CLEARLY STATES THAT YE MUST GO AROUND MY RIVER.”**

Shiro looked around, worried he had missed this sign. He didn’t _mean_ to intrude. But, Shiro couldn’t find anything.

 **I see no sign,** Black announced, growling lowly. Oh, she was irritated now.

“What sign?” Shiro asks cautiously.

 **“THE SIGN THAT IS RIGHT—** Oh. Hmm. Where is that sign…?” The water being stopped, his voice dropping to a comfortable and normal level while he made a show of looking around. “I could’ve sworn I put that thing on _both_ sides…” he muttered. He squinted at them. “You are in the Inbetween, correct? Where are you even going?”

“Uh, back to the Real World? We got stuck in here by mistake.”

He waved a dismissive hand at them. “You have to be more specific than _that_ ,” he scoffed. “But I don’t care as long as you are not headed to Maracia or my river. _Are_ you going to either of those places, human?”

What was with these people? He just wanted to _leave_ the Inbetween! What was not _specific_ about that? And Shiro had absolutely no clue what the guy was talking about. “No…” Shiro replied.

“In that case, nice to meet you! I am the River Guardian, master of all water! Now, good day.” The River Guardian began to shrink back into the river.

“Wait!” Shiro called. “Can you help us? We need to get back to space.”

 **Ask for someplace specific, like Arus,** Black suggested.

“Arus. Do you know where Arus is?”

“Arus… Arus… Is there water on that planet?”

“Uh, yes? Look, it’s okay if you don’t know…”

 **“I KNOW EVERYTHING THAT HAS WATER MORTAL! DOES YE DOUBTETH—?** Er, of _course_ I know, let me just…” The River Guardian placed his hand on his chin, making a show of thinking over the question. Shiro resisted the urge to roll his eyes; he shouldn’t have even asked. They could already be on their way by now…not that they knew where they were going…

“Is that the planet with the giant spiders?”

Yikes, if it were, then their stay would _not_ have been that pleasant. “I don’t think so…”

“The one with green lightbulbs, or whatever they’re called?”

“No…”

“Oh! I know! It’s the planet with all the shapeshifting elves!”

“…Do you mean Altea?” Maybe they were getting somewhere after all…

“No, no, that’s not it.”

Never mind. “If you don’t know, it’s fine…”

“No! I know ALL planets in my domain! It’s…”

Shiro eye twitched; he could feel his patience wearing thin. He shouldn’t have asked, _really._ Lost or not, this wasn’t worth it. Sitting here useless and at the whim of an immortal River Guardian with a spotty memory was _not_ what Shiro wanted to be doing right now, not when he could be _proactive_.

 **Ignore him; I do not think he knows,** Black spoke, confirming his desires. **I have every faith that you can find the way yourself.**

“Then let’s get out of here,” he whispered back.

He and Black quickly flew the other direction, earning a startled **“HEY!”** once they were out of range. They circled back around the river later, doing well to cross the mountains instead of over the water, and continued forwards without much clue. Eventually, the islands disappeared, and the space faded into another flat landscape.

Shiro hopped off, wanting to grant Black reprieve. Even though she insisted she was fine, she was not a machine here, and possessed energy to lose.

Colors were sprinkled everywhere, flowers like star-bits springing forth from the ground. This landscape wasn’t as desolate as the first field Shiro had traversed, but somehow, it wasn’t as peaceful; something about the too-bright flowers made Shiro…uneasy.

He took another step, and red seeped under his foot.

Shiro leaped backwards, startled. The petals around him matched the sticky red underneath him and of his nightmares.

 **Easy…** Black soothed, but she sounded nearly as spooked. The flowers did not react to her as they did Shiro, other than shriveling slightly, but she was just as disturbed.

He tried not to look and walked forward. No, the smell was too strong, it was just—

**Breathe cub.**

Wasn’t there. Nothing was there. But it had been—it _had_ happened, and it was on his hands. Shiro worried his lip, clenching and unclenching his fists. A heavy feeling settled on Shiro’s gut, dragging him through the field with as much grace as a cinderblock.

A trail of red followed Shiro, as bright and long as his ledger. Shiro refused to look at it, focusing ahead or on Black instead, but it didn’t go away. As much as Shiro had to acknowledge the past—what he had _done_ —he could scarcely forgive it.

And if this was the price he pay—this guilt—then so be it.

A pool of scarlet appeared up ahead, catching Shiro off guard. Black jerked her head up suddenly. Something wasn’t right. That wasn’t his, it was…

They weren’t alone.

Shiro squinted against the hazy colored light, gazing up ahead. Black saw a moment before he did, her stony dread and low growl doing nothing to ease him.

His blood ran cold.

Up ahead, sitting amidst a pool of blood, was Zarkon.

* * *

_"One step closer_   
_We’re looking out for brighter days_   
_One step closer_   
_We’ll find our way back home_   
_Time to go home_   
_Every chance we take will lead us_   
_Through the unknown..."_

\- Flyleaf, "Home"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next week! (I hope.)


	6. Out with the Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In order for a new era to be established, the old must crumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am so, SO sorry for that delay. My weekly postings kinda fell apart with my graduation coming up. That damn speech I had to give consumed my every thought in a bad way. But I did it! Yay!
> 
> Alright, one more chapter to go...

_"I don't regret this life I chose for me._  
_But these places and these faces are getting old,_  
_So I'm going home."_

\- Daughtry, "Home"

* * *

 

“What are we doing out here again?”

“I _told you_ , that asteroid must be moved over _there_ if this mission wants to have at _least_ a 52% chance of success!” Slav shrieked through the radio.

Right. It _was_ as stupid as he thought. Well, it was no matter—it gave Lance a chance to stretch his legs.

A sensation that felt an awful lot like an amused purr filled his mind; Lance smiled. No, this was _Blue’s_ chance to stretch her legs. So to speak, at least.

“Is here okay?” Hunk asked tiredly, the Yellow Lion pressed up against the hulking rock.

“ _No!_ That’s _far_ too much to the left!”

Lance rolled his eyes, but guided Blue into nudging the asteroid in the desired direction. They were on their way to the planet Plym in search for answers, hoping that something or someone there might have a better clue than they did as to the nature of ‘alternate realities.’ That, and Slav determined that the planet’s surrounding space would be ideal for opening the ultimate wormhole. (Keith was able to partially fill in the gaps of Slav’s and Pidge’s rambling about the location by simply stating that the planet was along what they called a ‘cosmic fault line.’ Lance didn’t care to hear any more scientific details past that.)

They were almost to the star-system when Slav had his aneurism. Apparently, the lazy paths of the asteroids were all _wrong_ and brought bad juju or whatever. Lance wasn’t inclined to become too bothered by it, as pointless as all of this was, if only to make Slav happy. That, and it gave him an excuse to fly.

 _“Perfect!”_ Lance and Hunk immediately lurched away from the space-rock. He breathed a sigh of relief and accomplishment, glad that they were done with the task at hand. Maybe then he and Blue could fly alongside the Castle until they entered the star system… “Now, the next one…” Ah, quiznak…

They continued to rearrange the belt to Slav’s whim. If it weren’t for the fact that Blue had learned Lance’s playlist, he might’ve become agitated long ago. As it was…

_“—baaaaby, you’re a fiiiiiiirreeework!”_

“Lance…”

_“Come on show em’ whaaaaaaat you’re worth!”_

“Lance, please stop…”

_“Make them go Ah! Ah! Ah!”_

“At least turn off your comm!”

Never. _“As you shoot across the sky! Sky! Skyyyy!”_

“For the love of…”

“There! You’re done! Slav’s happy! Just _stop singing Katy Perry!”_

Blue paused the music as Lance smiled at the comm. line. “Aw, would you rather me sing Twenty One Pilots and Evanescence?”

He couldn’t see him, but he was sure Keith was scowling and/or rolling his eyes. Mission accomplished. “Ha, ha, very funny.” As salty as Keith was acting, Lance knew he was amused; Lance was distracting, after all, and a distraction is what everyone needed. He knew for a fact that Hunk was fond of this playlist, and Pidge? Well, she’ll learn.

They’ll all learn.

Blue moved away from the asteroid belt, the rocks rearranged and Slav content. Lance guided her into a celebratory barrel roll, to which she complied with a purr. Hunk and Yellow flew straight back to their hangar, but Lance took the liberty to enjoy the open air. Er, _space._

This was why he wanted to fly—the freedom of movement coupled with the invigorating sensation of doing something _right._ Something _good._ There was a certain lightness and weightlessness to flying, especially when one was flying in a universe in which Zarkon was dead.

Lance had never asked to be part of this war, but he wouldn’t do it over. He would never regret climbing into Blue’s cockpit for that first time. Even if Lance had been able to achieve his old dream of being a jet-class flier back on Earth, it would never had compared to the sheer _liveliness_ and _harmony_ of flying the Blue Lion; nor would Lance had ever made so much of a difference.

Contrary to popular belief, Lance knew perfectly well what it felt like to fade to the background; he _was_ one of nine kids, after all. He wasn’t the smartest, or the dumbest, or the hottest, or the ugliest, or the best, or the worst. He was just…average. Just Lance.

But here, in space, in the cockpit, he was the Blue Paladin. And even though that came with pain, and responsibility, and danger, and risk, it was _something._ Lance wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Well… Maybe to see his family. But as much as he hated it, being away from them, he knew he was needed out here.

But for how much longer? He hadn’t stopped to think about it, with Shiro being missing and all, but…they did it. They killed Zarkon. Without him, the Galra Empire had no head, no visionary. Could that really be enough? Lance wanted to believe that it was; that this was it: they did it, they were done. But there was a nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t done.

Germany may have stopped their conquest after Hitler, but Rome continued after Julius Caesar.

Sometimes, it was hard to tell.

Though Lance would remain optimistic. Even if maybe things weren’t as hunky-dory in the long run as any of them would want to believe, the Galrans would surely be licking their wounds for a good while, leaving both them and the universe reprieve. Maybe they could even go back to Earth in the interim! Because the one thing Lance hates the most is the thought of his family mourning his loss, believing him to be dead or missing when he was _still there._

Blue purred encouragingly in his mind, a warm sensation filling him. Even from the beginning, the Blue Lion could communicate with him, in a way; though no words were spoken, and sometimes it was as if their attempts were made through a fog, Blue could always reach him with _feelings_. It was surreal, to think that this thing that looked like a machine could feel, but Lance loved that she could. It made him feel _connected_ to Blue on a personal level, as if the pilot and craft were really just friends flying about together.

“Thanks, Blue,” Lance said happily, a hand on her dash. She always seemed so _feline_ that Lance desired to urge to pet her, even though she was a giant robot flying machine. It was the thought that counted, though.

_You are welcome._

The words were far away, like a distant thought or an echo underwater, but Lance knew it wasn’t his. And that meant that he had to be… Lance grinned widely. “Blue, is that you?”

**Yes.**

This time it was clearer, and though it wasn’t quite a voice, it was—smooth and lovely as ever. “Oh my gosh, you can talk!”

A feeling of amusement tickled him. **Of course,** she responded, almost playfully.

“Man, this is so cool!” He could actually _talk_ to Blue! This…this was _amazing._ He had always known that she could communicate to him, sure, but it had only been through feelings and images, like a conscience rather than a person. It had somehow eluded Lance that she might have a voice all of her own.ss “Wait, why couldn’t we ever do this before?”

 **Our bond had not yet matured,** Blue answered. **It takes time for two beings’ quintessence to align themselves the right way for you to hear me.**

“Wow.” Lance couldn’t cease to be floored by the prospect. It took piloting to whole a new level. Nay—this wasn’t even piloting anymore. This was just _flying._ And it was _great_.

“So… what’s your name?” he asked curiously. He had always called her ‘Blue’ simply because Lance felt as if he should be able to refer to the Blue Lion by something more personal. (And by something shorter.) But now was his chance to actually get to know her.

**Blue—that is what you call me, isn’t it?**

“No, I meant, what you were before my nickname.”

**I was the Blue Lion. But I like to be called ‘Blue’—it feels…nice.**

Had this talking, feeling creature never had a name before? Come to mention it… Allura and Coran, when they had first explained the gig to them, had never mentioned their lions talking. Or even referred to them as living creatures. Sure, they explained that the lions had quintessence, but never quite as sentient. “Have you talked before?”

 **Yes.** Blue sounded wistful, as well as a little sad, in her reply, but not entirely unhappy. **To my first paladin.**

Oh. Right. Coran spoke often of the ‘paladins of old,’ but never of them specifically. All they knew was that Zarkon was once a paladin—and that wasn’t the best association in his mind. Though it reminded him that there was another that came before him, that Blue loved, Lance wanted to know more. “What was he like?”

She sighed. (At least, that was the only way to describe the response.) **Torrgun was a friendly spirit—not unlike yourself. He loved to kid and mess around, and meet new people and try new things. He was always so patient and empathetic, even to the most undeserving of ears. You two would have been great friends.**

It was surreal, to actually hear about one of the old paladins in detail—to hear their name, their personality. A part of Lance now only felt like a replacement, but the other—the part that could feel Blue’s pride and joy—didn’t share the sentiment.

 **It is a tragedy, what happened, but I am glad that you are my new paladin,** Blue continued suddenly. That pride and joy and _love_ swirled around Lance again.

He wasn’t a replacement—he was merely the newest child.

Lance smiled, unsure if Blue could see it or not. (Though he assumed she would know.) “I’m just super glad that I have the best lion in the world!”

In that moment, Lance was sure she was smiling back.

It would be hard to ruin this moment, but the universe sure as hell tried.

A flicker of movement, beyond the now-distant asteroid belt, caught Lance’s eye. It was small, and easily missed, but a marksman had a habit of noticing the little things. He and Blue stalled in their forward flight, the Castle moving forward unaware, and Lance focused in on the object that he had seen.

The long hull and the eerie purple lights were unmistakable: Galra war-ships.

—o0o—

Time slowed in that moment; the only thing that existed was the tang of coppery blood in the air. Shiro felt anger, dread, and _regret_ all at once like a great storm. How much was his, and how much was Black’s, he wasn’t sure.

The fallen emperor raised his head, glowering at them with hateful yellow eyes.

 _“You,”_ The Black Paladin growled. His right fingers straightened themselves in anticipation, waiting like the blade of a knife. “You’re supposed to be dead.” He _needed_ to be dead; otherwise, this whole ordeal was for _nothing._ And Shiro wasn’t sure he could handle that—that feeling of disappointment and _failure_.

Not again.

“You assume much, Paladin.” Zarkon stood, his cape billowing darkly about him, emanating his sinister glory.

Shiro was struck with a vicious onslaught of failure and pointlessness; here he was, stuck and stranded, all once justified on account of a seeming success that was just made moot. It was frustrating, and it wasn’t fair. Not to mention that Zarkon deserved to die, perhaps more so than the rest of them.

He lunged forward with a yell, at the same moment Zarkon moved. The Galran met Shiro’s fist with his own, ceasing the blow whilst throwing a punch at Shiro’s gut. The unexpected blow collided with his form, knocking his breath out of his lungs and rippling pain over his mid-section.

Shiro tumbled backwards, a limp rag in the presence of the former emperor, but he was undeterred.

_Do or die._

He rolled back to his feet, going in low. Zarkon could not reach Shiro in time as the Paladin drove a fiery fist into the back of his knee. The Galran howled in anger, kicking out his boot to rid himself of his assailant. Shiro saw the blow coming, and unable to move out of the way fast enough, curled inward in anticipation.

Zarkon’s foot never did more than push against his back, however, as a furious roar filled the air and occupied the Galran’s attention. Black stood on her hind feet, wings spread aggressively, as she tore at Zarkon’s chest with her front paws.

Shiro hurriedly moved out of the way and into Zarkon’s blind spot. When the Galran threw Black backwards with an angry yell, Shiro took a jab at his unprotected side. The burning fingers scorched the armor, but before they could pry into it, a wall of darkness separated him from Zarkon. It was cold, and wispy, but full of fury, and the Darkness defiled him with his touch and filled him in heavy chills.

It threw Shiro backwards, numbing him with pain. He gasped for air, feeling as though just that touch took all of his away. He…he had felt that, before. It was horrible enough that one would remember.

It attacked him in the cockpit, dragged him into the Void…

Zarkon’s cape billowed about him, surrounding him like a Dark presence, and extended outward in a shadowy, inky, mass. It lunged at Black, clashing with her golden aura, and cloistered Zarkon protectively, almost as if it was not a part of him.

 **This… this is not right,** Black murmured. **Quintessence should not be this violent…**

That was quintessence? Shiro would sooner label it a demon.

One who bore the face of Zarkon, no doubt.

The three circled each other oddly, the cloud of corrupted quintessence precluding Black or Shiro from getting too close, and Zarkon outnumbered. Shiro wanted nothing more than to tear at the Galran’s neck, for all that he had done. His fingers twitched and his veins thrummed, ready to attack. He would have, too, if it weren’t for the terrible _thing_ that shielded him. Even a lion fears getting burned, and its touch was worse than that of Pain or even Death.

“You cannot hope to destroy me,” Zarkon sneered, his voice echoing outward. The arrogant bastard bore his teeth in a wicked grin, and the shards flew before Shiro could possibly guess that he was armed.

Shiro deftly threw himself to the side as the inky knives flew in his direction, but not before one sliced into his arm. He gasped as the cold substance bit into him sucked the warmth from his bicep. Black roared, the lioness also not unscathed, and they both felt their fury heighten.

Black jumped at Zarkon, teeth bared and claws extended, and knocked the Galran back a few feet. Shiro took the moment to drive forward in his blind spot, right arm lunging for Zarkon’s cheek. The Dark Mass hissed at him, clawing at him with its icy touch, but Shiro would not be deterred. He was done cowering away from this monster.

But the quintessence that shielded Zarkon had other ideas. It dove at Shiro while he tried to reach for Zarkon’s neck, biting at his skin and freezing his blood. If he thought that Haggar’s magic was invasive, then this was worse.

It also managed to help Zarkon throw Black backwards, the lioness unable to fend against both Zarkon’s blade and the quintessence. Zarkon, free for a moment, whipped around to then face Shiro, slashing at him suddenly with a crooked blade. Shiro barely managed to block the blow with his arm, but the Galran had more strength behind the attack than Shiro had in his defense.

He buckled to his knees, hardly keeping the blade from digging into his face. Shiro felt panic rise as his legs gave out, his limited control in the situation fleeting.

When one’s life was constantly on the line, control is a blessing; lack of it often means death.

Black pounced on Zarkon, her forepaws digging into his shoulders. Zarkon barked out a cry. His attention diverted, Shiro rolled away from his blade with a sharp exhale and twisted towards his side.

Zarkon’s personal Darkness emitted an earsplitting sound that could only be described as a shriek of fury. It tore at Black and yanked her off, giving Zarkon the chance to focus on Shiro once more. He grabbed him by the ankle, inhuman claws digging in his flesh, and swung him upwards. Shiro kicked at the hand in desperation, only for the momentum to toss Shiro to the side and straight into Black.

Human and lioness tumbled backwards, Black curling her stomach around Shiro to protect him from the worst of the roll.

Zarkon approached them slowly, confidently, as that damned dark mass stretched about him tauntingly. He had not possessed these powers the last time they fought here, but they made the difference now; not even Black, especially in her smaller state, could touch him.

 **There might be a way,** Black spoke, though she sounded unsure. **It would defend against the quintessence, but… I do not know what it will do to you.**

A chance was a chance. “Do it.”

 

 

It was all a blur after that. Shiro himself has no independent memory of how the events unfolded, but only vague notions. In the moment, however, they could see clearly.

They rose on two legs, but taller than their adversary, with red and violet wings twice as wide. Gold radiated from their essence, clashing with the corrupted quintessence. It hissed angrily, melting at the bright touch. The souls that it once represented had long devolved to a maddening thirst—but their energy was much too hot to consume.

Zarkon’s eyes widened, suddenly small between the lion-man and the bane of his deeds. The Galran made a futile attempt to slash at the being before him, but the attack was ceased when a deft claw knocked the weapon aside. In turn, they lashed outward, arm ablaze in bright blue fury, and sliced the quintessence away from its host and its prey. It screamed and hissed and clawed, but it ultimately failed. Detached, the parasitic mass dithered and flitted away, leaving a shell behind.

—o0o—

“Are you sure they were war-ships?” Allura asked again, trepidation leaking into her voice.

Lance nodded solemnly, though forcefully. “Definitely. I’d know those ugly cannons anywhere.”

“They could just be regrouping?” Hunk offered hesitantly. “I mean, they weren’t attacking anything. And after what we did to the Mother Ship, that’s only natural…”

Allura relaxed marginally, along with the others, though Hunk could tell everyone was still on edge at the idea that the Galra were still out there. He knew _he_ was. It was silly, sure, to think that defeating Zarkon meant ridding the universe of the entire empire. But it was easy to forget that, to dwell on success, when they weren’t in sight; now, that nice and happy notion of peace was slowly getting poured into a drain.

“Regardless of intent, we must be vigilant,” Allura decided, blue eyes steeled. She was perhaps the first in line, along with Coran, when it came to wishing to rid the universe of the Galra, so Hunk understood her dedication. But…it would be nice to be able to ignore them, if not for a while, as selfish as the notion was.

“But first, we have a task at hand,” she continued. And that was what everyone wanted to do, no hesitation about it: find Shiro.

“We will arrive on Plym in approximately one hundred ticks,” Coran put in as the planet neared. “They are a planet of commerce, and thusly have a wide array of ports that we can dock at without causing much fuss.”

For a moment, Hunk expected Shiro to put in some stern warning about tact, or something of the sort, but it never came. The scene had just been so familiar, that Hunk was thrown off. And that made it so much worse.

They landed without much issue or fanfare. Somehow, this trade planet in the bowels of space was not familiar with the Castle of Lions—at least, not enough to recognize it on spot. And not even the presence of humans made the locals falter in their step. It was actually a nice change of pace, in Hunk’s opinion.

“So, uh, is this the part where we stop and ask for directions?” Lance asked as he made a show of circling about, taking in the surroundings. Plym really was something else. With a hodge-podge array of architectures, log buildings in the midst of skyscrapers, and a calm but substantial number of varied peoples, the planet was as if someone had grabbed chunks of other cultures and planets and tossed them together, yet with no inhabitant or visitor so much as disturbed by the lack of structure. There was no rhyme or reason to the technology present either; chariots and hovercars roamed the same streets, as women in long dresses mingled with individuals decked out in headsets and holo-pads.

Coran waved him off. “Pfft! Nonsense! We can navigate Plym just fine on our own; we shall simply sniff out the clues!”

Within the hour, they asked at least seven different people for more information on the legend of the Travelers, much to the chagrin of Coran. Apparently, Altean males weren’t fond of asking for directions either.

It was too bad that no one had any solid answers.

“Check the library,” a bored reptilian woman droned as she strolled onward.

“Travelers, eh? There’s a lot of travelers here, boy,” shrugged an elderly male.

“Yes! I recall that legend—what about it?”

“Check the guy at the store down there.”

“My great-aunt Patty would know! Too bad she’s dead.”

It was frustrating at best. Hunk felt like they had been running around like clueless pigeons for hours now. Pidge banged her head against the wall of a market stand—which was more of a concrete store than anything else—and groaned, encapsulating all of their feelings.

“This is pointless,” she growled. “We’re getting nowhere.”

“There’s just not that many helpful people here for such a diverse place,” Lance commented sourly. “You would think at least _somebody_ would be _helpful!”_

“Look,” Keith cut in, “We don’t have many options here—we just gotta’… keep trying, or something.”

It was pretty painful to watch Keith try to pull everything together. Hunk knew that Keith had a tendency to stick the world on his shoulders when Shiro didn’t, and with him gone altogether…

“Well,” Hunk interjected carefully. “At least we know that the legend _does_ exist here.” He was always willing to be the optimist when no one else was stepping to the plate—and since that was normally Shiro’s job… Well, Hunk would set aside his panic for now. But he certainly did fear Keith was right; after so much time with no results, the chances slimmed exponentially.

“I guess…” Pidge crossed her arms, leaning harshly against the wall that she had just been trying to concuss on. She was as obsessive as they come—lack of answers was a hard thing for her to swallow. Hunk hated it that she was in this position yet _again._

A customer strolled out of the store that they had been leaning against, and Hunk took the chance to bombard them as well. Why not? “Sir?” Hunk began. At least, he hoped that was correct—the person appeared rather amorphous, like a jellyfish with legs, and he couldn’t tell the gender, if it even had one. “We are interested in learning more about the legend of the Travelers—is there any place where we might find some information?”

The jellyfish stared blankly at him with its dull white eyes for a while, but eventually answered slowly with a low, droning voice. “There’s a lady that lives on the west side that can help you,” it rasped. “Look for a ‘Copal’.”

Was that…an answer? Hunk was so surprised that it worked that he forgot to even say ‘thanks’ before the jellyfish ambled off.

“Uh, guys? I think we actually got something!”

They collected Allura and Coran from the library as they headed in the appropriate direction. Most everyone knew of Copal—though the name often elicited cringes, which did nothing to ease Hunk—and they found her residence fairly easily.

Copal lived in a less populated region, mostly because it was the top of a mountain and no one else was crazy enough to build there. They flew up there in the Red Lion—since she was the speediest to arrive, as always—to find a wooden cabin rested innocuously on the precarious precipice.

Allura knocked on the door. “Hello? We are the paladins of Voltron, and we would like to speak with you about the Travelers.”

After a moment, the patter of footsteps (along with a few suspicious clangs) sounded as Copal moved towards the entrance and swung open the door. Copal was a short woman, with canine features and short tan fur. She had ears like a beagle’s, and small brown eyes that rested behind a pair of glasses on a chain, and she wore a long, pale pink, nightgown, even though it was the equivalent of noon.

“Oh, hello dearies!” she welcomed. “What brings you here?”

Allura blinked. “Like I said, we are the paladins of Voltron, and—”

“ _Oh_ , Voltron you say? Such a strange name. I knew the cousin of the Blue Paladin once—”

“No,” Keith interrupted impatiently. “We wanted to ask you about the legends of the Travelers; do you know anything about them or not?”

Copal stopped for a moment, squinting at them behind her glasses. She seemed rather elderly, if not a bit creepy, and Hunk couldn’t help but squirm a little underneath her suddenly sharp and lucid gaze— _especially_ when she started sniffing at them.

But then, she snapped back to her loose and cheery demeanor, seemingly satisfied with her inspection. “Why, of _course_ I know about them, dearies!” Copal responded happily. “After all… I _was_ a Traveler.”

—o0o—

The world felt lighter, warmer; he had not truly been aware of just how much he had been affected, all these years.

But… He was heavier, weighed down by his sins. The ghoulish forces that had made him stronger were gone, leaving only the blood on his hands. How… how had he strayed so? All those years ago, it had been clear; when had rage and darkness clouded his vision?

“I’m…sorry.”

She was watching—she whom he had betrayed. He realized this only now. How had he forgotten how she felt? How had he ignored her spirit and used her as only a tool? What a fool he had been. Worthless. Pathetic.

“You’re…’sorry’? Am I supposed to believe you?” the Black Paladin sneered quietly. The human’s face was impassive and cold, but there was confusion in his eyes. The Black Lion stared onward at her failure, head held high and her eyes full of life. And he had never seen it until it was too late.

The human was right to distrust him; mere words could never rectify what Zarkon had done—what he had become.

It was funny, how only in death and defeat could his plaster saint become a papier-mâché Mephistopheles. Now, Zarkon had only his regrets and his words.

“No,” he sighed. “It is not enough, nor should you ever believe me.”

The human continued to stare down at him, deciphering him, with the incarnation of the Black Lion close at his side. Even though his body burned and ached, stripped raw of all of the dark parasites that had sustained him, and turned inside out by the Head of Voltron’s pureness, Zarkon pushed himself off of the ground and stood at his full height. No matter what he had done, he could not bear to be looked down on. Zarkon was no lesser being.

The Black Paladin narrowed his eyes at him, and Zarkon could smell his fear and anxiety despite the paladin’s confidence. He was right to be afraid.

Zarkon remembered this human—remembered his stubbornness, his ruthlessness in the ring, and how he never bowed. Insolent though he was, Zarkon found amusement in the Champion. For such a weak being as humans were, he was resourceful, and a terrifying fighter. Zarkon was greatly surprised that a beast like him would be chosen to be the Black Paladin.

He supposed it was to the universe’s whim that the mantle of the Black Paladin should know what it is to be a monster.

The human crossed his arms—a show of strength, if Zarkon ever knew one. “Why bother, then?” Maybe it was the enlightenment granted by death, or the fact that he had once known her, but Zarkon knew that the bitterness in the Paladin’s voice stemmed from the Black Lion herself.

Why did he? Zarkon was an emperor, a being of power and might. And an emperor apologized for nothing.

_“How can you be King and Paladin at the same time?”_

_“I am a Chief—I protect and council my people; I lead in War, and I uphold the law. That is what we paladins are to do, is it not?”_

_Vesta smiled at him. “And that is why you are the Head. The universe needs more firm leaders such as yourself.” She placed her hand on his, and he held it._

Zarkon had done none of those things—how could he ever believe that he did? In eradicating the universe of all that mocked him, he became the very thing that destroyed his faith to begin with. But one taste of power was enough to make him crave it.

But now, he was cleansed. And Zarkon knew that he must answer for what he had done.

“I have wronged you,” he replied. He had awakened the monster inside the paladin; he had abused the bond of the Black Lion; he had broken a promise to one he held dear. “And that cannot be forgiven. Or undone.”

Zarkon would not beg for what would not be given; that was beneath him. But he was not above addressing it—for her sake. He had vowed that he would avenge Vesta, but all he had accomplished was becoming what had destroyed her.

The Black Lion took a single step forward, her eyes penetrating and intense. He met her gaze, accepting her scrutiny.

“Why?” The voice was the paladin’s, but it was also hers.

It was a question he could scarcely answer. Who has a reason for succumbing to Darkness? It is rarely intended—not at first. Zarkon had done terrible things in Vesta’s name, and more in his own. And for what? “It gave me strength,” he answered. Artificial strength in his time of weakness and despair. “It filled my Void.”

Zarkon met the gaze of the human. “You do not need it, paladin.” He looked to the Black Lion once more. It would seem that she had finally found a True Black Paladin. He had wished it could be him, but Zarkon saw now that it was too late; he had thrown away that chance many years ago. He could no longer have her. But this human—he had potential. And the Black Lion’s bond. “You are filled with something better.”

He turned away—away from the Black Lion forever—with his words to the Black Paladin hanging weightily in the air. Zarkon did not know why he felt the need to advise the man; perhaps it was because he had some twisted part in shaping what he had become. Regardless, Zarkon now felt as if he one good thing to dwell on before he Moved On forever.

Zarkon had plunged the universe into chaos—an impressive feat, but not a cherished one. But, he could say that he gave rise to something Good: a brighter era of Voltron that Alfor could never create.

The red blossoms, peppered with white now, swayed around their feet. Zarkon released a single breath, and strode off into the distant setting glow. It overtook him, silencing him, and he embraced it.

* * *

_"Because we are not alone in the dark with our demons_  
_And we have made mistakes_  
_But we've learned from them_  
  
_And the sun, it does not cause us to grow_  
_It is the rain that will strengthen your soul_  
_And it will make you whole."_

\- The Oh Hellos, "I Have Made Mistakes"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I really wanted to get this chapter out there, I shortened it significantly. That means that next one shall be LONG. So... It might take a little while. A week from now, I hope. But we shall see. It shall definitely come within two (I hope) and this WILL be finished.


	7. Finally Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. Sorry guys, this is really late. And short. Honestly, my muse for the story crashed and burned last second, and I got swept up in some other fandoms for the time being. But I really wanted to finish this, so here it is!

_"I don't know where we should go,_  
_Just feeling farther from our goal._  
_I don't know what path we will be shown,_  
_But I know that when I'm with you I'm at home."_

- Jeff Williams, "Home" from  _RWBY_

* * *

 

This was it. After everything they had been through… _this_ would be their end.

Boredom and insanity.

If it weren’t for the fact that this crazy old woman _might_ know the key to saving Shiro, Pidge would’ve thrown herself out of the window by now.

Copal could _talk_ —and about the most random shit, too! Pidge could scarcely follow the ‘conversation’; all she was sure about right now was that tea made from bark and tea made from leaves were _very_ different, and that Copal _would not shut up._

“—and by then the goat was _giant_ so we have to harpoon it with a golden twig so it would shrink back to pocket size! Speaking of pockets, I got stuck in one once—a space pocket, that is—it was quite lovely, other than the fact that time kept repeating. Even _I_ got bored of that! Now, what was I saying…?”

“How do you travel through dimensions?!” Keith cut in shortly. His eye was twitching, too. This was _at least_ the seventeenth time she got off topic. Pidge really didn’t blame him for getting all grouchy on the old lady.

“Ah, yes! Well, if there’s not a gate already, I would suggest a space-ship with a drive. Of course, _those_ are expensive. But much smoother than a natural hole. Or, heaven forbid, that stupid pocket watch! Well, the watch was for time, but the point still stands. You fellows aren’t trying to time travel, are you? I seriously don’t recommend it. Time travel is such a finicky thing—”

“No, just dimensions,” Pidge interrupted tightly. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea; this woman just kept spewing nonsense. After this, she didn’t think she was allowed to complain about Slav ever again. Even _he_ wasn’t _this_ bad. “Our friend might have disappeared into another one, _remember?”_

“Oh, I remember everything!”

“Except the topic…” Lance whispered lowly.

“Yes, yes, your friend… There wasn’t a black hole, was there? Nasty things, those are. And quite rude!”

“I really think we would have noticed,” Pidge responded dryly. Honestly, Pidge can’t even believe that they’re _having_ this conversation! Dimensions, black holes, time travel… this wasn’t the kind of stuff Pidge signed on for when she wanted to study the dark art of science—or when she started poking at aliens on the rooftop of the Garrison. Granted, she should have expected weird stuff with that last one.

“Shiro disappeared inside the cabin of the Black Lion,” Allura reminded her. If it weren’t for the tightness of her fake smile and the small twitch on her right cheek, one would have hardly known that the princess also was annoyed beyond sanity. Still, Pidge was very sure that Allura was less obvious than, say, the rest of them.

“Hmm… Did he have space-warping powers?”

“No…”

“Possess a malfunctioning gem or a relic?”

“No.”

“Anger the Watchers?”

“What?”

“Are you _sure?”_

“Uh…”

“Ooh! Exposed to cosmic radiation?”

“He was _inside.”_

“Hmm, yes, but how good was that ship’s protection?”

“The Black Lion is one of the most powerful machines in the universe! How dare you question its structural soundness?!” Ah, _now_ Allura was visibly upset, too.  

Copal tapped her chin. “Are you _sure?_ Babylon said the same thing…”

This conversation was going nowhere. Pidge had half a mind to simply walk out and screw it and let Slav rip a hole in the universe—at this point, she was sure that even _that_ would yield better results!

“Maybe he just left.”

“He _would not_ just _leave!”_

“No? Hmm… Perhaps he was caught in a time paradox.”

“A _what?”_

“A time paradox. When time is changed and something can no longer exist even though it wasn’t directly affected. I told you, time travel is tricky stuff. Makes me think of the time when…”

“Shiro. We were talking about _Shiro.”_

“Right, right… Now, who was that, again?”

“Aggg _rrrrrhhhh!”_

Pidge buried her face in her hands, wishing that all this pointless chatter would cease. It grated on her that she could do nothing but wait and listen for some babbling woman to tell them the answers. She much preferred to be able to find them _herself._

But that was why they were there, wasn’t it? Pidge failed to do just that. They managed to get to a certain point, yes. An impossible point that relied on rifts in space and dimensions being real. Pidge supposed, with all the impossible things that they had experienced, that she should be able to believe in a few more. But it wasn’t that easy, no matter how hard she tried. She doubted.

That was the bottom line: doubt. It was something Pidge avoided, scorned, and pushed down into the dark recesses of her mind. It lingered, behind the stubborn rage, and whispered.

Pidge thought she was getting better. Each day she stood strong and fought against it, brazenly demanding answers that had to be there instead. Yet…where were her results? She had still yet to find her brother or her father, or even confirm if they were presently alive. And now, she had yet to find Shiro. What was the point of all of this faith if it came to nothing?

Keith was adamant that it was the only thing they had, and he was right. But Pidge couldn’t help but wonder if faith was _enough._

—o0o—

A sky of burning lights surrounded them, each its own planet and galaxy and universe, yet none grasped Shiro’s attention.

_“You are filled with something better.”_

Shiro still had no idea why Zarkon would _not_ try to kill him, much less leave parting words of…encouragement? Good will? Not-hate? It was all so strange. None of that was what Shiro associated with the emperor that stared him coldly in the eye as Shiro was forced to kill in his arena… The same being that single-handedly brought pain and suffering and death to the entire universe.

Who willingly gave his soul up to the afterlife and confessed to his sins.

 **He was once a good paladin,** Black mused sadly. **But the Darkness...**

He shuttered at the thought, the mention recalling the phantom fingers of the collected demons that plagued Zarkon’s soul. Shiro supposed that anyone would be as crazy and twisted as Zarkon was when the enraged and corrupted remains of stolen life were screaming in their ear and their hearts. But then, it took a special kind of monster to willingly unleash that.

It was all so confusing, and Shiro had enough matters to deal with as it was.

Like getting home.

The colored orbs of light stretched on as far as the eye could see, each a swirling portal to…something else. He and Black instinctively knew that this field lay on the edge of the reality, but here was where Theseus’s string went limp.

“There’s so many…” Shiro sighed despondently. In another time and place, the field of portals might have been beautiful, but here and now, they only made Shiro feel small and lost.

Black fixed her head on one spot in the horizon. **Perhaps… It is over here…**

They drifted to the right, in front of light blue ring of light. Shiro felt nothing different about this one above all the others, aside from the fact that it reminded him of Black’s glowing crest. The closer they came, the brighter the blue appeared, and the portal shimmered into an image of a metal planet with neon blue veins.

“Never seen that place before…” Shiro mused. Black had yet to respond, only gliding closer. He could feel her interest, her curiosity. “Black? Do you…know this place?” It was highly possible that Shiro was simply unaware.

 **I… don’t know.** She sounded wistful and…confused. Distant. It was such a foreign feeling, coming from the Black Lion. She stared at the planet’s image, before tearing herself away. **But it is unimportant.**

Shiro didn’t know how to respond—which seemed to be a reoccurring problem. They knew next to nothing about Black’s true origin, other than that she and the others were crafted from a mysterious comet. Could it be possible that that comet had been from another place?

But those were rabbit trails they couldn’t afford to get lost on. Both paladin and lion knew that.

Shiro focused on the field ahead of them, glancing back every so often because he feared he already missed what he was looking for. They all looked the same, save for different colors and sizes.

It was all so big, so intimidating, so…lonely. Shiro knew quite a bit about being alone, and it wasn’t something he would want to experience again—that feeling of being away from home with no way back. This time, he had Black, at least, and that was a small miracle. But even with paladin and lion together, they were still separated—isolated—from the rest of their body.

Not for the first time, Shiro thought about the other paladins, and what _they_ must be going through. Were they safe? What if they needed Voltron? Regardless of paladins present, Black was here, with him; there could be no pilot of the Black Lion. Maybe it was that unspoken bond between paladins, the one that bubbled up whenever they formed Voltron, but he could feel their absence like a hole in the side.

It wasn’t the only thing that hurt. His ankle ached uncomfortably, leaving Shiro to shift slightly on Black’s back to try to relieve the appendage. Black noticed, inevitably, and he could feel her soften as she set her sights on one of the many floating landforms.

He sighed. “You’re right, we should stop and rest,” he agreed, before she had to form the words. Shiro was sure that they could both use a break—Black especially, since she had been the one flying.

They settled on the island, Shiro leaning against Black’s side as she lay on her stomach, much like a lioness would. There was no concept of night or day in the Inbetween, and even though they didn’t have physical bodies _per say_ , they expended energy.

Shiro rose in and out of dreamless unconsciousness, unwilling to sleep but unable to stay awake. He just thought—let his mind wander to places he seldom went. The unpleasant places reared themselves, sometimes, trying to scare him, showing him the blood on his hands. He knew it was there, as much as he hated it. It was a part of him. No, strangely enough, it was thinking of Earth that hurt the worse.

But it wasn’t because he missed it. Shiro thought he _should_ , but he didn’t. There was nothing for him there. No family, no aspirations. That was why he wanted to go to space, he mused: he didn’t want to be held back by gravity.

Black purred in amusement behind him, sensing his train of thought. Shiro cracked a small smile. Oh, he left gravity behind, alright.

The few things he cared about—the _people_ that Shiro let himself grow attached to… Well, the majority of them were out in space with him.

Matt and Sam were who knows where, most likely in some Galra work-camp. Keith was with him, a paladin. And the other paladins… he could tentatively call them friends too. It hadn’t been long, no, but Shiro cared about them. He didn’t want to see them hurt, or upset, or as broken as he was; and despite it all, they always managed to cheer _him_ up. Keith was like his brother; they never needed words, and Keith always knew when he needed space, or to stay close. Lance, loud though he was, was impossibly bright and exuberant, a positive contrast to what lurked inside of Shiro. Hunk was kind, and caring, and a strong hug at the right time. Pidge was just like Matt—smart as a whip with a mouth to back her up, but Pidge was more energetic; she never gave up on her family and friends, and that kind of faith always inspired Shiro deep down.

Something painful tugged at his gut. It had been a while since he felt that feeling: homesickness. Shiro hadn’t felt that since those first few months stranded in a Galra cell. Huh. To think, after all this time, that he should ever feel that again…

Another tug, and Shiro felt himself gaze onward, locking eyes with a bright blue orb in the distance. Call it intuition, call it happenstance, call it the bond, but in that moment, Shiro _knew_.

Shiro knew where Home was.

He knew _who_ it was.

—o0o—

Keith pressed his palms to his eyeballs, hoping that maybe if he couldn’t _see_ this mess, then maybe it wouldn’t exist.

Ha. Right.

“—and then _that_ was when space-slug _ate_ our ship! Ha! It was quite disgusting in there, but roomy. There was a whole colony in that thing that thought the same thing. You know, people can make a home _anywhere_ they make their mind too. Once, I witnessed an entire kingdom that lived inside a volcano. They were actually quite friendly, even though they ate—”

He couldn’t do this anymore; he couldn’t sit here and listen to this woman blabber while Shiro was out there— _somewhere—_ and possibly— No. No, he wouldn’t go there. He _couldn’t._

“I need some air,” Keith managed throatily, jerking himself from his seat.

Before any of the paladins could stop him—or even notice—Keith hurried outside. The mountains, even when they were on another planet, still smelled the same: cool, airy, and _open._

How did this happen? Finally, when it seemed like things were going _right_ for once, progress just seemed to fling itself out the window. All that work, all that research, all that hope, and all they have to show for it is a planet with a legend and a woman that can talk about anything but what they want.

He just felt so _useless._ Shiro had wanted _him_ to be the leader in his absence, but here Keith was, hiding outside from all of his problems. He felt like he was letting Shiro down, even when he wasn’t here.

Tainting his memory.

 _No!_ Damnit, he couldn’t think like that!

It was just…just _hard._ Keith was never the most social person, or the most trusting, but somehow, he had found a friend in Shiro, all those years ago, just like he had out here in space with the other paladins.

Even though his friend count was up a whopping four, it was down one, making it all the emptier.

There was a distinct hole that Keith could feel potently. Like they were all trying to function while missing their right arm.

Heh. Keith would pretend he didn’t realize the irony of that.

He stared up at the stars, hands stuffed in his pockets. It was childish, maybe, but that didn’t stop Keith from just wishing, praying, that Shiro would come home. That everything would be alright.

_Please._

There was a shimmer, nearly imperceptible to the eye, but Keith noticed it all the same. For once, the universe winked at him.

Or glared.

The wind howled, whisking around Keith with sudden ferocity, nearly knocking him off balance. The sky darkened to violet, crackling like it was about to fall apart under the roaring thunder.

“Hmm, it’s been a while since that happened.” Copal peered up at the sky, squinting behind her spectacles as she stood in the open doorway of her rattling house like there was nothing but a bird flying past.

Lance burst forth from the cabin behind her. “Oh my god, the _sky’s falling!”_

Great. Just great. _Another_ disaster, Keith thought sullenly.

“The sky can’t _fall,_ Chicken Little,” Pidge snapped, hitting Lance lightly on the back of the head. But her eyes were fixed worriedly on the worsening weather. “Are, uh, sudden changes in weather normal up here?”

“Not really,” Copal shrugged, unconcerned.

“Perhaps we should return to the Castle,” Allura suggested, uncertainty creeping in her voice. There was nothing jumping out of the sky attacking them, but the way the sky bent and cracked was disconcerting and worrying.

Before anyone could act, one way or the other, the sky opened in a violet-colored crack. Keith pretended like he _didn’t_ hear Hunk shriek behind him, for his sake. They couldn’t catch a break, could they? And Keith really didn’t want to have to run off and face some universe-shattering disaster, because that meant _not_ finding Shiro. And that didn’t even address the fact that they couldn’t form Voltron.

But the figure that fell from the sky in a rush of wind, bent in his landing, was not that of a foe.

It was the shape of a friend.

Keith’s heart froze in his throat, his feet rooted to the ground. Because good things like this didn’t just _happen._ It had to be a trick, and that make it so much worse.

Shiro—the form of Shiro—rose to his feet, a warm smile on his lips. Keith couldn’t move.

“S-shiro?” someone behind him whispered. He couldn’t utter a sound, his eyes fixated on the apparition in front of him. After all that hoping, Keith never thought that Shiro would just fall out of the sky, as miraculous and impossible as this was. He wanted it to be real, even though it couldn’t be, and that made the thought that it _wasn’t_ all the more painful.

Shiro closed the distance quickly, a warm, _real_ , hand planted on Keith’s shoulder. “Hey,” he greeted them breathlessly, joy and relief flooding the man’s form. “I’m here.”

Keith melted in Shiro, the brother he almost lost _again,_ something hot and wet sliding down his cheek as he planted his forehead on Shiro’s _real_ chest, a rush of emotion rushing forth.

Shiro’s strong arms wrapped around him, proving that he was here and safe. More arms, more beating hearts, joined the fray, and Keith found himself in the middle of a very large group hug, but somehow, he didn’t mind.

Keith wasn’t used to miracles. But one happened, nonetheless, and Keith couldn’t be happier that he was wrong—that it _was_ possible for the universe to smile down on him every once and while. Because it brought his brother back.

“If you ever disappear again, I swear I’ll make your arm glow pink and make light saber sounds,” Pidge threatened (emptily) as she sniffled. The group finally loosened, separating enough for it not to be considered a hug, but no one moved too far away.

“What happened?” Hunk asked.

Shiro’s lip quirked upward. “It’s a long story—one that you can hear once we’re back on the Castle of Lions. I have to return Black to her hangar.”

Wait, the Black Lion wasn’t…? It was then that Keith noticed the golden glint to Shiro’s otherwise gray eyes, warm and wise on a stormy backdrop. A ping of curiosity hit him, but ultimately, Keith didn’t care where he was, because it didn’t matter.

Shiro was home.

* * *

_"And now after all my searching,_  
_After all my questions,_  
_I'm gonna call it home._  
_I've got a brand new mindset,_  
_I can finally see the sunset,_  
_I'm gonna call it home."_

\- Switchfoot, "This is Home"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. Shiro gets hugged. A lot. Yay! Now he just needs to return the quintessence of the Black Lion back to her mechanical body before they fully fuse again, because that would be kinda bad. And awkward. Meh.
> 
> Sorry it's a little rushed. As I said above, my muse ditched me. 
> 
> Also, to those of you who didn't guess the reference in Chapter 4, it was from Lord of the Flies by William Golding.
> 
> \-- “My poor, misguided human, do you think you know better than I do?”* -- was a direct parallel to "My poor, misguided child, do you think you know better than I do?" from the eighth chapter when the Lord of the Flies speaks to Simon. The remark "I’m always close—a part of you" of the "I'm part of you? Close, close, close!" line. So yes, the Shade of Shiro was his pig head on a stick. FYI. 
> 
> Okay, now while Finding Home is over, I have a oneshot brewing that will take place sometime after this. It really has nothing to do with the story other than how it falls on the timeline in my head. Also, I might post my headcannon story for the origins of Voltron; I already shamelessly threw hints about it into this story. So stay on the lookout for those!
> 
> Now, without further ado, my lovelies. The end. (For now.)


End file.
